PS NO PL.AYS EKCnANGKD. 

u«v5^^j^^j^.^ Edition' 




or PLnY3 m 



The Village School- 
Ma'am 




COPYRIGHT, 1689, BY WALTER H. BAKER & CO. 




Class _^SLl£3f 
Book >U/3VjrJ 

COPYRIGHT DEPOSrr 



^^^"" ^r^ 



The Village Schoolma'am 

A Country Play in Three Acts 



By 
ARTHUR LEWIS T^UBBS 

Juthor of ^^F alley Farm;' '-'■The dountry Minister^ 

^^ Willow dale ;' '^The Penalty of Pride," 

'■''Miss Buzbfs Boardersf "^ Double 

Deception^' " Through the 

Keyhole" Etc. 



NOTICE TO PROFESSIONALS 

This play is published for amateurs only. Professional 
companies are forbidden the use of it in any form or under 
any title, without the consent of the author, who may be ad- 
dressed in care of the publishers. 



BOSTON 

WALTER H. BAKER & CO. 



4 COSTUMES AND CHARACTERISTICS 

ing a bit untidy, as if just from the kitchen. Act III, neater, 
with a more " dressed-up " appearance. 

Elvir.\ Pratt. A small, wiry, nervous little woman, the 
typical village old maid dressmaker and gossip. She may 
have "frizzes" or "crimped" hair, but is not a caricature 
with the antiquated side-curls. Should be plain, quaint and 
amusing, but not exaggerated. In first two acts, a tidy dark 
dress of some cheap material. Act III, a bit more elaborate, 
but not overdone. 

PosiE. A lanky, awkward and slow-witted girl of fifteen or 
thereabouts, lazy and generally half asleep. First two acts, 
cheap calico dress or large apron, rather untidy ; hair in pig- 
tails or long braids, somewhat awry. Act III, clean apron, 
hair arranged more neatly and tied with gay ribbons. 



PROPERTIES 



Two or three boxes and barrels ; a few articles such as seen 
in a country store. Country newspaper. Stick and jack-knife, 
letter in envelope, drummer's grip or sample case, several parcels 
of various sizes, tied up in wrapping paper ; G. A. R. badge, 
gingham apron, kitchen towel, new dress for Ida May, rather 
fancy ; plate, paper-covered novel, dollar bill, dress suit case. 



The Village Schoolma'am 



ACT I 

SCENE.— 77i<f village street, in front of the store and post- 
office. The store is across R. U. E., with porch in front, on 
which are some boxes, barrels, etc. ; in windows, an array 
of the line of goods seen in a small country store. Over 
door, a sign, ''Store and Post- office." Discover Sam Al- 
COTT seated on floor of porch, with a neivs paper, dozing ; 
HosEA Clegg, on a box, l., whittling. As curtain rises. 
Tad is heard ivhistling off R. He hurries in, up steps, ajid 
pauses, looking at Sam Alcott. Hosea Clegg does fiot 
look up until Tad speaks to him. 

Tad. Say,— hey, there ! Better git a move on y', Mr. 
Alcott. {Going to Sam and shaking him.) Here comes your 
wife. 

^xu (sleepily). Hey? What's that? 

Tad. I said you'd better git up 'n' hustle, 'r you'll ketch 
it. Here comes your wife down the street like a streak. 

Sam. Is she? I vum, guess I had. {Stirring lazily.) I 
ain't none too spry. Bothered with th' m'lary consid'able. 

Tad. You'll be bothered with somethin' worse 'n that, if 
you don't look out. Won't he, Mr. Clegg? 

Hosea. Aw, what do I care ? Let him ketch it. 'F I wuz 
's lazy 's he is 

Tad. Yes, whittlin's hard work, ain't it? Here she 
comes. [In door.) 

Enter Mrs. Alcott hurriedly, r. ; she pauses as she sees Sam ; 
stands with her arms akimbo, looking at him. 

Sam (rising). Oh ! that you, Mari' ? 

Mrs. Alcott. Yes, it's me, you lazy, good-for-nothin', 
make-b'lieve of a man. What you sett'n' 'round snoozin' for. 
when you know I've got wood t' cut? I declare, you're 
enough t' pr'voke a saint ! 

5 



6 THE VILLAGE SCHOOLMA AM 

Sam. J was jest a-comin', Mari'. Was jest on m' way 
home, 

Mrs. a. Oh, you wuz? Did y' think you was go'n' t' git 
there sett'n' on that stoop? Sometimes 1 ahnost f rgit I'm a 
church-member. 

Sam {going to r.). I'm goin', ain't I? You needn't jaw 
about it, b'fore folks. 

Mrs. a. Folks? {Looks about, pretejiding not to see 
HOSEA or Tad.) I don't see any. Hurry up, now; you 
can't cut that wood standin' there. 

Sam. Wal, I'm a-goin'. Gosh, you make me tired, 

Mrs. a. Huh ! I guess you was tired b'fore ever y' seen 
me. {lie goes off, R., grumbling to himself ; she stands look- 
ing after him.) 'N' me boardin' the minister and the school- 
ma'am, 'n' enough t' do t' drive a dozen women crazy. I de- 
clare, sometimes I feel like givin' up. 

Tad. Not t' give up talkin', I guess. 

Mrs. a. What's that ? If you ain't the sassy thing. I 
guess if Dick Elliot knew you talked that way to his cus- 
tomers 

(Tad laughs and runs into store. She is about to folloiv 
him, but pauses as Hosea speaks.) 

HosEA. How do. Mis' Alcott ? I heard the schoolma'am 
was back. Come yist'd'y, didn't she? 

Mrs. a. No, the day before. I s'pose you ain't got nothin' 
t' do but set around 'n' hear the news. Anybuddy'd think 
you was a millionaire, 'nstead of havin' nothin' but a measly 
pension of twelve dollars a month, 't you don't deserve. 

HosEA. Don't, eh? I guess I earned it. I fit f'r the 
Union. 

Mrs. a. Huh ! I guess all the fight'n' you ever done 
didn't hurt the other side much. {Goes up to steps.) 

HosEA (rising). That's all you know about it. Wasn't I 
't Bull Run ? 

Mrs. a. {in store door). Shouldn't wonder 'f you was, if 
they was any runnin' t' be done, 'n' I'll bet they didn't none of 
'em run no faster 'n you did. 

HosEA. That's sland'rin' an old soldier. 

Mrs. a. Old soldier? — h'm ! Wal, I can't stand here all 
day, confabbin' with you. I've got t' git some groceries. 
{Looks off to R.) Here comes Elviry Pratt. I wonder what 
she wants. 



THE VILLAGE SCHOOLMA AM 7 

HosEA. I d' know. 'F you wait a minute, I reckon you'll 
find out. 

Mrs. a. 'S that so ? You needn't fling out. Folks 't live 
in glass houses shouldn't throw the first stone. {Etiter Elvira, 
R.) How d' do, Elviry? 

Elvira (r. c). Why, good-afternoon. Mis' Alcott. Ain't 
it warm ? 1 jest walked all the way down from Mis' Shattuck's, 
t' git some braid 'n' see 'f they was any mail, 'n' I'm jest about 
tuckered out. {Sits on floor of porch ; fafis herself .) Good- 
afternoon, Mr. Clegg. 

HosEA. Afternoon. 

Mrs. a. (coming to front of porch). Sewin' f'r Mis' Shat- 
tuck, be y' ? 

El. Yes, 'n' — well, Mis' Alcott, I wouldn't want you to 
repeat it, 's I make it a point never t* fetch 'n' carry from one 
customer to another, — but I must say, it ain't no satisfaction 
to cut 'n' make for folks like Mis' Shattuck. Such a figure ! 
Now, you know, 's well's I do. Mis' Alcott, 't she ain't got no 
more shape than a meal sack tied in the middle, 'n' yet — will 
you believe it? — she expects me t' make her look stylish. 

Mrs. a. Land, you might as well try t' make a wash-tub 
look stylish 's her. By the way, when can y' come 'n' do 
some sewin' for me, Elviry ? I want y' t' make some new 
clothes for Idy May. 

El. In a few days, I guess ; soon's I git through up t' Mis' 
Shattuck's. So your Idy May's goin' t' have more new ones? 
My, what pride you do take in that child. 

Mrs. a. Well, I don't intend her t' take a back seat for 
none of 'em. I guess a girl what's had her advantages ain't 
goin' t' be outdone by no schoolma'am. Well, then, I'll ex- 
pect y' this week. 

El. Yes, I guess I'll git around by Thursday. 

Mrs. a. All right. It'll take y' some time, 'cause I want 
'em t' be real stylish. , \^Exit to store. 

El. I'm comin' right in, too, t' git that braid. 

(Up steps, but pauses and looks back as Hosea speaks.) 

HosEA. Had quite a visit, you two, didn't y' ? 

El. Yes, 'n' you set there 'n' took it all in, I'll warrant. 
'F I was a man, I'd have some gumption, 'n' not set 'round 
doin' nothin' the hull durn time. You 'n' Sam Alcott are 
off the same piece. 



5 THE VILLAGE SCHOOLMA AM 

HosEA. Huh ! Sam d' know what peace is, married t' 
that. 

(JSIotions with his head toward store.') 

El. I guess lie's 's peaceful's he deserves, letl'n' her s'port 
him the way he does. Well, I must go in 'n' see 'f I've got 
any mail. \_Exit to store. 

HosEA. I reckon y' ain't, 'n' won't have, if the males 
know a good thing to fight shy of. 

{He restwies whittling lazily, and after a pause, Graham, 
carrying a good-sized grip or drummer's sample case, bus- 
tles in R. He starts up steps, but pauses as he sees 

HOSEA.) 

Graham. How are you, stranger ? This is Elliot's store, 
isn't it? 

HosEA. Reckon 'tis — Dick Elliot's; 't any rate, he runs 
it — store 'n' post-oiftce. Drummer, be y' ? 

Gra. That's what they callus. " Commercial traveler " 
sounds better, but drummer'll do. Graham's my name. 
Braids, trimmings, fancy buttons, and so forth, is my line. 
Mr. Elliot in ? 

Hosea. Sure. So's a few others. Reckon he's busy jest 
't present. Miss Pratt's in there, the dressmaker, 'n' Sam 
Alcott's wife, so I guess you won't stand much show. Y' 
couldn't drum loud 'nough t' drown'd them out, I reckon. 
Ever be'n round this way afore? 

Gra. No, this is my first trip here. Nice village you have 
here. 

Hosea. Yep. Nothin' doin' much, though. 'Tain't none 
too lively f'r a man what's be'n through th' 'xcitement I have. 
I fit f'r th' Union. 

Gra. Oh, you did? Old soldier, eh? 

Hosea. Yep. Git a pension — twelve dollars a month ; 
ought t' have more, but the gov'ment's too stingy. Manage t' 
git along, though. Go'n' t' stay long? 

Gra. That depends on business, and how I like it. Sort 
of combining business with pleasure, this trip. May tarry a 
week or two, if I like it. 

Hosea. Stayin' t' the hotel, I s'pose? 

Gra. Yes. 

Hosea. Mis' Alcott, she keeps boarders. Boards the min- 
ister 'n' the schoolma'am. She's a beauty, too. 



THE VILLAGE SCHOOLMA AM 9 

Gra. Who— Mrs. Alcott ? 

HosEA. Gosh, no — the schoohna'am. Mis' Alcott? 
Huh ! wait till y' see her. But the schoolma'am — she's right 
up in style, sort o' 'bove her station. Seems kind o' queer 
about her, too. I al'ays s'pected she was more'n a school- 
teacher, once. 

Gra. How interesting ! Scenting a romance, first thing. 
Shouldn't wonder if I tarried. Wonder if I can get presented ? 

HosEA. I reckon so. Here they come. I'll interduce y' 
t' Mis' Alcott, then you c'n work it. 

(^Enter Mrs. K.,from store ; pauses on porch.') 

Mrs. a. (fioi noticing Gra., looking at several packages 
which she carries'). Wonder if I've got everything? Let me 
see — raisins, cinnamon, mustard, sugar — there ! I forgot t' 
git any sugar. I'll have t' go right back and git some. {Sees 
Gra.) Oh, excuse me. I didn't know they was anybuddy 
here. 

HosEA. Let me make you acquainted v/ith Mr. Graham, 
Mis' Alcott. 

Mrs. a. How d' do? Excuse me, I must go in 'n' git 
some sugar. I declare, seems so I git more f'rgilful every day. 

\_Exit to store. 

(Gra. crosses to r. c, smiling. Hosea is l.) 

Hosea. Guess y'll never f rgit t' talk, 's Tad said. Her 
'n' Elviry Pratt is a pair. Here she is now. 

Enter EL,,/rc;« store. 

El. Land sakes, Mr. Clegg, you still here? {Sees Gra.) 
Oh! 

Hosea. Miss Pratt — Mr. Graham. 

Gra. Glad to meet you, Miss Pratt. 

El. Same t' you. {Noticing his case.) Oh, be you a 
drummer ? 

Gra. M'm — yes, I suppose that's what you'd call me. 

El. Well, then, I hope you carry dress-goods 'n' trimmin's, 
and'U persuade Mr. Elliot t' buy some. I never saw such a 
store. Even if he has what y' want, he's always jest out. 

Gra, Thanks. I'll use your dissatisfaction as an induce- 
ment. {Toward steps.) Think I'll go right in. 



10 THE VILLAGE SCHOOLMA AM 

(^He meets Mrs. A., tvho comes dotvn steps. She is followed 
by Dick, who pauses on porch.') 

Mrs. a. There ! I hope I've got everything now. Oh, 
here's a drummer t' see you, Mr. Elliot. 

El. With jest the line o' goods you need. I hope you'll 
stock up. 

Dick. Indeed! (7<? Gra.) Will you walk in, sir? 

Gra. Thanks. (^Up steps on porch.) 

Dick [looking back, smiling). I'll see if we can't meet your 
fashionable demands. Miss Pratt. We must have style, you 
know. Now, sir. 

(^To Gra., who precedes him, as they go into store.) 

Mrs. a. Nice-lookin' man, ain't he? 

El. M'm — rather; but too familiar. The way he looked 
at me ! But, then — a drummer ! 

Mrs. a. Yes, I've always heard they wa'n't t' be trusted. 
It takes two t' flirt, though. 

El. Now, Mis' Alcott, I hope you don't think 

Mrs. A. Land, no. I guess you're safe. Well, I must be 
gitt'n' on home. Goin', Elviry? (Starts R.) 

El. N-no, not jest yet. I think I'll go back and look at 
them buttons agin. Mebbe they'll do. 

Mrs. a. Buttons, — h'm ! 

(Looking kno7vingly toward store, then at Hosea, with a 
smile. He has been whittling easily, without seenmig to 
notice them.) 

Hosea. That's what I say — "buttons ! " (Chuckles.) 

El. I'd like t' know what you mean by that. If you mean 
to insinuate 

Hosea. 'Sinuate? Guess not. 'Tain't necessary. 

Mrs. a. Well, if you ain't goin', Elviry. (Looks at her 
packages.) Let me see — raisins, cinnamon, mustard, sugar — 
yes, I guess that's all. Seems t' me though — (as she goes off 
R.) raisins — cinnamon — mustard \^Exit, r. 

Hosea. Think you've made a mash, Elviry? 

El. "Miss Pratt," if you please, and I want you t' under- 
stand I won't have such language applied t' me. If I didn't 
consider where it come from, I'd resent it more. As it is, I 
don't s'pose it's worth noticin'. (Goes r.) 



J 



THE VILLAGE SCHOOLMA AM H 

HosEA. Goin' ? What about them buttons? 

El. I'll come when that drummer ain't here, 'n' not give 
any meddUn' old male gossips a chance t' talk. A girl can't 
be too careful. \_Exit, R. 

Hose A {rising, looking after her, laughing to himself^. 
^\■ hew, it's hot ! Guess I'll go 'round to the pump 'n' git a 
drink. \_Exit, L. 

{There is a slight pause, then Sylvia enters, R. i Y..,jiist as 
Tad comes on to porch and begins sweeping.^ 

Sylvia. How do you do, Tad ? 

Tad. Oh, — Miss Lennox ! I heard you was back. 

Syl. Well, aren't you glad to see me? Come and shake 
hands. 

Tad. Sure, I am, {He puts broom aside, comes to edge 
of porch and she reaches up and shakes hands ivith him.) Be 
gladder, though, 'f it didn't mean school was t' start next 
week. 

Syl. So you are coming ? 

Tad. Yep — I mean, yes, ma'am. Mr. Elliot's go'n' t' let 
me off, 'n' I'll work in the store before and after. Seen Mr. 
Elliot yet? 

Syl. N-no. 

Tad. I reckon he'll be glad t' see you. He's been count' n' 
the days. 

Syl. Oh, Tad 1 How do you know he has ? 

Tad. 'Cause I seen him looking at the calendar the other 
day, 'n' marking off the days, 'n' I ast him what he was doin'. 
"Oh," says he, "jest seein' how long 'tis 'fore you start in 
goin' t' school." " Yes," says I, " 'cause you're anxious for 
the teacher t' come back," and he blushed jest like you be 
now, 'n' "Tad," says he, tryin' t' act cross, but he couldn't, 
"you go 'n' cover up that sugar barrel." "Huh," I says, 
"sugar ain't all that's sweet," and he made as if he was goin' 
t' hit me, but I could see he liked it. 

Syl. Thaddeus Thompson, I shall make you stay after 
school the very first day, for being so inquisitive and such a 
little gossip. I am ashamed of you, and you are very much 
mistaken. Will you go in and see if there is any mail in there 
for me? 

Tad. Yes, ma'am. Shall I tell him you're here? 

Syl. No. I don't wish to see him. 



12 THE VILLAGE SCHOOLMA AM 

Tad. All right. They's a drummer in there now, anyway, 
so I guess he's too busy. But I'll see 'f you've got any mail. 
M'm — do you mean mail with an " i," or a male with two 
eyes ? 

SvL. Tad ! (Tad runs into store. Svl. stands l. c. ; 
glances into store and starts back with an exclamation of ter- 
ror and dismay.') Oh, — Jim ! {She turns to r., as if afraid 
of being seen, and is about to go off, when she meets Sam, zuho 
enters r.) Oh, Mr. Alcott, I 

Sam. That you, Miss Lennox? After y'r mail? 

Syl. (tvho haspausedv.. c). Yes ; but I think I won't wait, 
if you will bring it. I. 

Sam. Sure, I will, if they is any. What's y'r hurry, though ? 
'T's pretty hot. You'd better rest a minute. 

Svl. No, I think I'll be going. 

Sam. All right. But — say, what d' you think? I had t' 
come back after some sallyratus Marl' f'rgot. She f'rgits some- 
thin' terrible. 

Syl. Yes, I remember 

Sam. Wal," that's more 'n' she ever does. 'N' come t' think 
of it, seems t' me sallyratus wa'n't all she told me t' git. 
Seems so they was somethin' else, but I vum I can't think Avhat 
'tis. S'pose 'twas pepper? 

Syl. \anxious to get away, but detained by hint). Why, I 
am sure I don't know. 

Sam. No, it wa'n't pepper. Let me see — sallyratus — 'n' — 
sallyratus \_Exit to store. 

Enter Dick, to porch. He sees Syl. , and comes doivn, going 
up to her. She is forced to remaiti. 

Tiicv. {coming dowji). Miss Lennox. {They shake hands.) 
I am glad to see you back again. 

Syl. Thank you. I am glad to be back, too. 

Dick. You don't mind if I say that I have missed you — 
terribly ? 

Syl. Of course not. It is pleasant to be missed, especially 
by a person whom one also misses. 

Dick. Oh, then, you really gave me a thought while you 
were gone ? 

Syl. To be sure I did. I— I always think of my friends, 
Mr. Elliot. 

Dick. Yes, of course, but I — I wish I might dare hope that 



THE VILLAGE SCHOOLMa'aM 



13 



you could think me something more than — than just a friend. 
I — pardon me, I hope you are not offended ? 

Svl. No, of course not. But I don't want you to think of 
me in — in that way — Mr. EUiot. You mustn't. I can never 
be more than a friend to you, and — {turning as if to go off r.) 
I must go now. {Holds out her hand as she again turns to 
hitn.) Please be my friend — my good, true, honest friend, and 
not speak of — of this — again. Will you ? 

Dick. If you wish it. {Takes her hand.) How can I do 
anything but what you wish ? Only, if ever — if the time ever 
comes 

(She drops his hands, turns away, and is about to go off, 
but pauses as Tad comes on to porch. At the same mo- 
tnent Ida May enters, r.) 

Tad. Say, Mr. Elliot, Mr. Alcott wants some things, 'n' 
that drummer wants t' know where you've gone to. 

Dick. All right. Tad; I'll be right in. {Up to porch. 
Sees Ida.) Good -afternoon. Miss Alcott. 

[^Exit Tad to store. 

Ida. How do you do, Mr. Elliot? Is my father in there? 

Dick. I believe he is. Coming in ? 

Ida. Yes, instantaneously. Ma sent him after some things, 
but she forgot to tell him to procure some tea. Dear me, I 
don't know what to make of ma — she has no memorability 
at all. 

Dick. That's too bad. 

{Looks at Syl., and smiles, as he goes into store.) 

Syl. So your mother is as forgetful as ever, is she, Ida 
May? 

Ida. Oh, unutterably more so, Miss Lennox. She seems to 
have no concentration of recollection whatever. She sent me 
to get some tea which she forgot to get and forgot to tell pa to 
get. Let me see, I think it was green she said; or was it 
mixed ? 

Syl. I'm afraid you are mixed. I hope her failing doesn't 
run in the family. 

Ida. Oh, no; my facilities of memory are excellent, though 
pa is not always infailable. {She is on porch, about to enter 
store.) Oh, what a handsome, stylish man ! I suppose he is a 



14 THE VILLAGE SCHOOLMA AM 

commercial drummer, as they call them. I must go right in 
and get that tea. [^Ex/t to store. 

(As she goes in, Gra., carrying his case, comes out. He 
smiles at her, ifi a flirtatious way ; she looks back, tvith 
a faint smile of encouragemetit. Syl. has been about to 
go out R., but pauses as she sees what is goitig on, and 
stands up R., not at first seen by Gra., as he comes down 
to R. c. As he crosses, he sees her and stops, showing 
amazement.) 

Gra. Stella, by all that's ! 

Syl. Yes. Are you surprised ? 

Gra. M'm — well, slightly. I must say, this is the last 
place I expected to find you. 

Syl. But no doubt you are delighted to see me. 

Gra. Why, I don't know — yes — but it's all so sudden, it's 
sort of taken my breath. (Holds out his hand.) Well, we 
might as well let bygones be bygones. How are you, anyway ? 

Syl. {disdaining his hafid). No, thank you. 

Gra. H'm ! proud as ever, I see. Quite a come-down, 
isn't it — to the position of a country schoolma'am ? 

Syl. So you know ? 

Gra. Sure. The rustics in there were talking about the 
school-teacher — how handsome she was, and stylish — describ- 
ing you, in fact, and I didn't catch on. No wonder. So you 
won't shake hands ? 

Syl. No, Jim. There are no bygones with me. I can't 
forget. Heaven knows, I had no desire to see you again, and 
I would have avoided you, only I saw that you were up to your 
old tricks, and I mean to stop you. 

Gra. Ho, you mean the little butterfly who just gave me 
such a winsome smile. Why, it's the first time I ever saw her. 

Syl. Perhaps, but I know you well enough to know it is 
not likely to be the last. You might as well know, first as last, 
that you must not begin that sort of thing here. She is a friv- 
olous, vain little thing, but innocent and unsuspecting, and I 
am not going to let you fill her head with nonsense and perhaps 
lure her on to her destruction. 

Gra. Whew ! but we're getting melodramatic. Never fear, 
my dear, I'm not going to be here long, and now that I have 
found you 

Syl. Don't begin that. You have found me, but we must 



THE VILLAGE SCHOOLMA AM I5 

be as perfect strangers. It is not necessary for anybody about 
here to know that we have ever met before. {^Enter Hosea, 
L. , paying 7io particular attention to them ; sits on porch, un- 
noticed?) Be careful — there's 

Gra. {looking around). Oh ! the old soldier. Hello, G. 
A. R.» you back again? 

Hosea. Yep. B'n out t' the well, gitt'n' a drink. 'T's 
right around there 'f y' want some. 

Gra. No, thanks. Water doesn't appeal to me, exactly, 
for drinking purposes. Think I'll get on down to the hotel and 
see if I can't find something a little more invigorating. 

Hosea. That so? Wal, y' see, water don't cost nothin' — 
gin does. 

Gra. My, seems so they ought to give some to a man who 
"fit for the Union," once in a while. Be glad to treat, if 
you'll come around some time. 

Hosea (j-ising). Thanks, stranger. 'T happens I was jest 
goin' that direction. 

Gra. Well, now, that's lucky. 

Hosea (juith alacrity, crossing to R.). This here is our 
schoolma'am,"Miss Lennox. 'Tain't often we git a teacher's 
good 's she is, n'r 's han'some. 

Syl. (j/p R.). Now, Mr. Clegg, you mustn't ! Remember, 
they don't all look at me with your eyes. 

Hosea. No? Wal, 'f they did, they'd see about the pur- 
tiest thing they ever laid their eyes onto. Eh, mister? 

Gra. I must say, Mr. Clegg, I agree with you perfectly. 
Our eyes must be very much alike. Well, are you ready ? 

Hosea. Sure, 'n' wait'n'. [Exit, r. i e. 

(Gra. lingers, goes up to ^\-L.,just as Ida e filers to porch 
from store, looking at them in astonishment?) 

Gra. So you won't forget the past ? You can't 

Syl. No. I ask nothing of you, except that you leave me 
alone. 

Gra. Very well. But the time may come when 

Syl. Never. Leave me. And don't forget — we are stran- 
gers. 

Gra. M'm — I understand. 

(Smiles to himself, knowingly, and exits, R. i e.) 



1 6 THE VILLAGE SCHOOLMA'aM 

(Syl., shozvi?ig dejection, stands a }?iometit looking after 
him. After a pause, Ida conies doivn, preteiiding that 
she has just appeared and has seen nothing.) 

Syl. Oh ! Did you get the tea, Ida May ? 

Ida. I mformed pa of its variety and he will procure it 
with the other articles and convey them all home together. 
Isn't that drummer handsome, Miss Lennox? 

Syl. The drummer ? Oh, yes. But, my dear, you mustn't 
permit him to flatter you and turn your head. He is a man of 
the world, and such men often have no scruples. 

Ida. Indeed ! Well, I wish you to remember, Miss Len- 
nox, that I have seen something of the world myself, and that 
my advantages have not been lacking in numerosity. 

Syl. Oh, yes; I forgot. You spent a whole week in 
Albany last winter, and saw real life. Of course, when one 
has seen the world, as you have, she should be able to take care 
of herself I hope you will pardon my interference. (^Going.') 

Ida. I had no intentions of arousing your anger, but — you 
see 

Syl. Never mind. It is only that I want to be a friend to 
you. Come, we will go home now. 

{They are about to go out r., but pause as Posie enters R., 
dragging herself in lazily.) 

Ida. Posie ! What are you doing here ? 

Posie. Mis' Alcott sent me after somethin' she f 'rgot. 

Ida. What was it ? 

Pos. I f 'rgit. 

Ida. The idea! How could you? We've all caught it 
from ma. Try and think. Was it washing-powder, or stove 
polish 

Pos. Nope. 'Twas good t' eat. She forgot t' git it, 'n* 
forgot t' tell him t' git it, 'n' t' tell you t' tell him t' git it, 'n' 
now I f rgit. 

Ida. You ought to get catechised for such stupendous 
stupidity. 

Pos. Gee ! I guess I'll have t' git a dictionary, 'f I want 
t' know what you're talkin' about. \^Exit to store. 

Ida. Isn't her excessive ignorance deplorable ? 

Syl. Excruciatingly, excessively so ! 

Ida {looking at her half suspiciously). M'm — yes? 



THE VILLAGE SCHOOLMA AM I7 

Syl. (siniling mischievously). M'm — yes, sure. In fact, 
she seems to be what they call " the limit." 

Ida. Miss Lennox — slang ! I entertained no idea that a 
school-teacher 

Syl, Oh, dear — school-teacher ! I get so tired of being 
reminded that I am the school-teacher, and being watched 
every minute by people who are in hopes I will do something 
they can criticise. The school-teacher — the poor little school- 
ma'am — she must be a model of virtue and propriety, no mat- 
ter how well she teaches the young idea how to shoot, or she is 
raked over the coals and called before the inquisition of the 
village scandal mongers. It's a delightful position to be in, 
isn't it? 

Ida. Why, Miss Lennox, how you talk ! I was not aware 
that you ever taught anybody how to shoot 

Syl. No? Nor that I have to submit to being the target 
for all those who wish to shoot their poisoned arrows of jealousy 
and suspicion in my direction ? Ida May, in spite of your 
visit in the great city of Albany, and the resultant benefit of all 
your wonderful "advantages," you have lots to learn. 

Ida {starting to go, but coning back). Miss Lennox, I be- 
lieve you are making fun of me, and 

Syl. No, my dear, I am not ; but I am trying to open 
your eyes to some of the things you do not understand — to 
warn you against doing something which you may regret all 
your life. 

Ida. I don't know what you mean — I think you're ter- 
rible 

Syl. You know what I mean, or you should. I mean that 
an — that drummer 

Ida. Oh, yes — Mr. Graham, I see ; you are jealous. 

Syl. Jealous ? Oh, — heaven forbid ! 

Ida. But you are, you needn't deny it. It's plain to be 
seen you know him, and that there's something you want to 
hide. I've heard it said that you wasn't always a school- 
teacher, and that you have known better days, when you were 
not under the obligation of earning your own livelihood, and 
I guess it's true. 

Syl. True ? Yes, it is true — heaven knows I have seen 
better days — days when I was not obliged to suffer suspicion 
and sneers for the sake of a few paltry dollars a week. Better 
days, indeed ! 

Ida. Well, I guess they couldn't have been much to your 



1 8 THE VILLAGE SCHOOLMa'aM 

credit, or you wouldn't be so afraid somebody would find out 
something. I guess if there was nothing to hide, you wouldn't 
be quite so secretious. 

Syl. I have a right to be. I am earning my living hon- 
estly ; why should any one care whether I was always com- 
pelled to do so ? 

Ida. But nobody knows where you came from, who your 
folks were — or anything. 

Syl. No. If my present conduct does not speak for itself, 
let them say what they will. (^Enter El., r., hurriedly.^ 
Oil, — Miss Pratt ! 

El. {looking about, up near steps). Is he gone ? 

Syl. Who ? 

El. That drummer. I wa'n't go'n' t' have it said I was 
lead'n' him on — the way he looked at me ! I'm not the kind 
to encourage any such advances, I don't care t' git talked 
about, like some women do. 

Ida. I guess you are not in any immediate danger. 

Syl. You are quite safe at present. Miss Pratt. He is not 
here. 

El. Oh, — thanks. Then I'll go in 'n' look at them buttons. 
After the way Hosea Clegg flung out (^Up on porch.) 

Syl. Mr. Clegg? Oh, yes, — your ardent admirer. 

El. What — him? 'N' me? Why, he's old enough t' be 
my gran'father. Hosea Clegg ! H'm, — well ! 

{Tosses her head indignantly and flounces into store.) 

Ida. She appears to resent your insinuation. 

Syl. a sure sign there is something in it. Their courtship 
may be a tempestuous one, but I believe it is the real thing, 
after all. {Goes to Ida, speaking with some tenderness.) 
Come, Ida May, we are going to be good friends, aren't we? 
I only wish to save you, and 

Ida. Save me? I should like to know to what you have 
reference. I am quite sure I have done nothing to cause you 
thus to address me. I must ask you. Miss Lennox, not lo 
interfere in my affairs. (Ida goes up r., haughtily turning her 
back 1/pon Syl., tvho stands c, lookiiig after her, apparently 
dazed and disheartened. As Ida is about to go out, she en- 
cotinters Mrs. A., who rushes in R., carrying a small tin pail, 
or a pitcher.) Why, ma ! 

Syl. Mrs. Alcott ! What brought you back ? 

Mrs. a. I come after some vinegar I f'rgot. 



THE VILLAGE SCHOOLMa'aM iq 

{She holds up the pail or pitcher, goes up steps, just as Sam 
appears lu door. He carries several parcels which he 
drops as he sees her. Dick follows him out, stepping to 
one side. El., Tad and Pos. appear in door; Mrs A 
pushes past them, nearly upsetting Pos., and disappears 
into store. Jda sinks on to end of porch, r • Syl is 
R. c. ; Dick on porch c. ; El., r. c. ; Tad and Pos.' on 
porch, R. and L. They all look after Mrs. A. as she goes 
into store.) * 



CURTAIN 



ACT II 

SCENE. — Same as Act I ; afternoon of the same day. Dis- 
cover Pos. , seated on floor of porch, fast as kef . As curtain 
rises, Tad appears in door, sees Pos., smiles knoivingly, 
wipes his mouth with sleeve and steals quietly down steps, 
bends over her and quickly kisses her on lips. He then 
dodges back, so that she does not at first see him, as she 
slowly wakens, looking about in a dazed manner. 

Pos. What was that? Somethin' bit me. 

Tad {coming out). Mebbe 'twas a kissin'-bug. 

Pos. A what- bug ? 

Tad. Kissin'-bug. I seen one flyin' 'round here a minute 
ago, 'n' 'f he, didn't light on you he d' know what's good. 

Pos. I bet it was you. 

Tad. Be I a bug ? 

Pos. You're 's bad's one. If you done it, how dast y' ? 

Tad. 'Cause you set there 'n' 'vited me to. Well, y'r lips 

did, 'n' they b'long t' you, don't they? Y' see 

Pos. I see you're too cheeky. Tad Thompson, 'n' you 

needn't do it agin. The idee o' you kissin' me when I wa'n't 
lookin'. 

Tad. Well, if you're so stingy with your old kisses, I'll put 
it back. 

(About to kiss her again ; she jumps back, slapping him.) 

Pos. I guess you won't. I'm p'tic'lar who kisses me. 

Tad. 'N' I'm p'tic'lar who I kiss. That's why I kissed 
you. 

Pos. M'm — was it, Tad? — honest? 

Tad. Sure — hope t' die it was. I'd have you f'r my girl 
if you'd let me. What d' you say? I'll take you to the 
circus. 

Pos. I don't b'lieve y' could. 

Tad. Yes, I could. Mr. Elliot said I could take the brown 
mare — she's as gentle as an old cow — 'n' the buggy. Will 
y' go? 

20 



THE VILLAGE SCHOOLMA AM 21 

Pos. Then I got t' be your girl — stiddy ? 

Tad. Well, kind o' seems so folks might talk, 'f we got 
that f 'miliar 'n' then didn't keep it up. 

Pos. Mebbe they would, the way they do about Mr. Elliot 
and the ^choolma'am. I heard Miss Pratt 'n' Mis' Alcott 
sayin' 't he seemed terrible gone on her, 'n' she was lead'n' 
him on without any serious 'tentions. 

Tad. I guess he's good enough f 'r her, 'r anybuddy. 

Pos. Mebbe he is, but Miss Pratt says 't nobuddy don't 
know who she is 'r where she come from, 'n' I heard Idy May 
tell her mother 't she seen her talkin' t' that drummer jest 's 
if she knew him. 

Tad. Huh ! Idy May's jealous. She tried t' make a 
mash, 'n' couldn't, I s'pose. Say, '11 you go t' the circus? 

Pos. I don't s'pose Mis' Alcott'd let me. 'Sides, I ain't 
got enough t' buy me a ticket. 

Tad. Ticket ? Ain't I takin' y' ? I got two tickets they 
give Mr. Elliot f 'r lett'n' 'em put up pict'res on the barn. 

Pos. Oh, have y' ? 

Tad. Sure, I have. Le's go look at 'em. 

Pos. What — the tickets ? 

Tad. No — the pict'res. 

Pos. Can't, now. My ! I hope they'll have one o' them 
'rithm'tic animals. 

Tad. What's them ? 

Pos. One o' them spotted adders I heard about. I'm crazy 
t' see one. 

Tad. Well, mebbe they will. {Suddetdy.) Oh, there's 
that bug agin. 

Pos. What bug? 

Tad. Kissin'-bug. 

Pos. Where? 

Tad {kissing her on lips'). There. 

Pos. Oh ! {Playfully slaps him.') You b'have y'rself 'n' 
go 'n that store 'n' git me two pounds o' rice. Mis' Alcott 
wants t' make some pudd'n', 'n' she f 'rgot it. 

Tad. All right. 'LI you ask her? 

Pos. M'm h'm.- I'll tease s' hard she'll say yes t' make 
me stop. You git that rice. 

Tad {up steps). AH right. Then we'll go look at the cir- 
cus bills. Gee, but t wish it was t'-morrer. \^Exit to store. 

(Pos. again sits on porch, dozing lazily. Hosea enters R. 



22 THt VILLAGE SCHOOLMA AM 

He glances at her, goes and sits on other end of porch, 
without speaking; has a stick and begins io tvliittle. 
After a moment, drops his knife. She wakens, looking 
sleepily about.) 

HosEA. Tired agin, Posie? 

Pos. 'Tain't agin ; never was nothin' else. 

HosEA. Gosh ! I guess that's so. I reckon you was born 
tired, 's they tell about, 'n' never got rested. 

Pos. Rested ? Guess not. Never have no time. Have t' 
peel things, 'n' bile things, 'n' wash dishes, 'n' sweep up, 'n' 
then do 't all over agin. 

HosEA. Huh ! Anybuddy'd think, t' hear you talk, 't 
you was a reg'lar slave. I don't b'lieve you earn y'r salt. 

Pos. That's all you know about it. I work early 'n' late. 

HosEA. Mebbe y' do, but y' don't do nothin' b'tween 
times. 

Pos. (rising lazily). I don't never do nothin' but do some- 
thin'. You needn't talk. You don't never do nothin' but do 
nothin'. Got t' go in 'n' git that rice. {She goes up steps.) 

HosEA. Say, if Dick Elliot is in there, tell him I want t' 
see him. 

Pos. All right ; I'll tell him. [^Exit to store. 

{After a slight pause, enter 'Dick from store.) 

Dick. Hello, Mr. Clegg. Want to see me ? 

HosEA. Wal, yes, I do. Jest want t' put a flea 'n y'r ear. 

Dick. How's that? 

HosEA. Come right out, shall I ? 

Dick. Certainly. Out with your flea. 

HosEA. Wal, it's about the schoolma'am. Think a good 
deal of her, don't y' ? 

Dick. M'm — why, yes; I admire Miss Lennox very much. 
What about her? 

HosEA. I d' know's it amounts t' much, but I thought I'd 
tell y'jseein' you've been makin' up to her. Oh, yes, y' have. 
Guess I've seen a thing 'r two. Wal, Sam Alcott let it out 
this noon, that he heard his wife talking t' Elviry Pratt, *n' 
they was sayin' 't the teacher 'n' that drummer was seen talkin' 
f'miliar like, 's if they knew each other. Looked kind o' 
s'picious, they said, 'n' folks have begun t' talk already. 

Dick. Miserable gossips ! Do you think I would pay any 
attention to such talk as that? If that's all you have to say to 
me 



THE VILLAGE SCHOOLMA AM 



23 



HOSEA. 'T's enough, seems t' me. Mis' Alcott swears 
they wa'n't interduced, 'n' they was seen talkin' t'gether. Jest 
thought I'd warn y'. 

Dick. Warn me? 

HosEA. Sure, seein' you're shinin' up to her. 

Dick. Thank you, but you have assumed too much. I 
have no claim upon Miss Lennox. 

HosEA. Mebbe not, but 'tain't your fault. There, now, 
don't git riled. I jest wanted t' tell y', so mebbe you could 
look out for her a little bit. Guess she'll need it, with them 
women on her track. 

Dick. You're right, Mr. Clegg, and I'm glad you told me. 
{He is down c. ; looks off to r. Hosea seated on end of 
porch, L.) Ah, here comes Mr. Alcott now. 

Hosea. Is it ? Wal, ask him. 

Enter Sam, r. 

Dick. Good-afternoon, Mr. Alcott. 

Sam. How do ? Come after some lemon extract she f 'rgot. 

Hosea. Gosh, she must be the champeen f 'rgitter. 

Sam. Guess she is. She never f rgits what y' wish she 
wouldn't remember, though. That's where the trouble 
comes in. 

Dick. Lemon extract, is it, Sam ? 

Sam. Yep. Ten cent bottle. Say, that drummer been 
around sence dinner ? 

Dick. No. He said he'd be here about two, but he hasn't 
shown up yet. What about him ? 

Sam. Nothin', only they's some hints about him 'n' the 
schoolma'am. 

Dick. So Mr. Clegg was just telling. The best way to 
treat such gossip is to pay no attention to it. Come on in, and 
I'll get your lemon extract. [^Exit to store. 

Hosea. Kind o' jarred him though, didn't it? 

Sam (sitting on other end of porch). Reckon it did. 
Jealous. 

Hosea. Sure. Wants her himself. 

Enter Ida, r. 

Ida. Why, pa, you here? 

Sam. Yes; your ma sent me after some lemon extract. 
What you after? 



24 THE VILLAGE SCHOOLMA AM 

Ida (she carries a letter). I — why, I desired to post an 
epistle, 

HosEA. Epistle ? — what' s them ? 

Sam. She means a letter. {To Ida.) I didn't know but 
she'd f 'rgot somethin' else. 

Ida. No, although it is the general condition of circum- 
stance with me. She has no dependability of remembrance. 
{Up steps.) It really is a terrible calamity to be so incapaci- 
tated. \_Exit to store. 

Hosea. Gosh ! Say, Sam, do you think it's hopeless ? 

Sam. What ? 

Hosea. Why, what ails your gal. 

Sam. Ain't nothin' ails her, 's I know of. 

Hosea. Ain't ? Seems t' me she's got it bad. 'F I was 
you, I'd have her head examined. Fust y' know, one o' them 
big words '11 git stuck somewheres 'n' mebbe be the death of 
her. 

Sam. Yo"U needn't fret. Idy May knows what she's talkin' 
about. She's been t' Albany, 'n' that language comes natural, 
what with read'n' the JVew York JVeekty and the Fireside Com- 
panion. She's got quite an edication, Idy May has, 'n' her 
ma 'n' me's proud of her. 

Hosea. Oh, edication, is it? Thought mebbe 'twas spas- 
modic affectation of the hypodermical column of the spinal 
meni'geetis, 'r somethin' like that. Glad 'tain't nothin' seri- 
ous. Wal, I must be gitt'n' along. {Rising ; crossing to R. C.) 
Goin' my way ? 

Sam. No, I ain't. Thank goodness I ain't bow-legged 
enough t' go the way you do. 

Hosea. Oh, y' be, be y' ? Wal, if you'd fit f 'r y'r country 
the way I did, mebbe you'd be bow-legged too. 'Tain't no 
disgrace. 

Sam. Guess I've fit 's much you ever did. 

Hosea. Huh ! You never fit nothin' but y'r wife, 'n' y' 
never got the best of it, 't that. I was at Antietam. 

Sam. Fight'n' ant-eaters? 

Hosea. Sam Alcott, you'd better not make fun of an old 
soldier. They's a penalty for it. 

Sam. I ain't makin' fun o' no soldier. 

Hosea. Don't I git a pension ? 

Sam. That don't prove nothin', 'cept the gov'ment's fooled 
agin. 

Hosea {bristling up). You dassn't say that over agin. 



THE VILLAGE SCHOOLMA AM 25 

Sam. Who dassn't ? (Shotaifig fight?) Soldier, was y* ? 
Fight, then. 

( They approach each other rather gingerly, as if about to 
come to blows, when the Rev. Mr. Flick enters, r. He 
steps up to them, Jiorrified, and they desist, sheepishly.) 

Rev. Mr. Flick. Brethren, brethren, what do I see? Can 
it be you are engaged in a serious aUercation ? 

Sam. He begun it. 

HosEA. I didn't nuther, parson. He insulted the Union. 

Sam. I didn't do no sech thing. Union ! Guess it ain't 
insultin' no Union t' say you wa'n't never no soldier. 

Hosea. I was, too, 'n' you lie 'f you say I wa'n't. 

Rev. Mr. F. Why, Mr. Alcott, Mr. Clegg, I am astonished. 
Two of my church-members coming to blows in the street. I 
trust you will desist at once, or I shall feel obliged to take it 
before the church board. 

Hosea. Take it, then; I ain't go'n' t' stand by 'n' let no 
old henpecked Sam Alcott say I never fit for the Union, church 
'r no church. 

Sam. Wal, y' didn't. 

Hosea. I did, too. 

Sam. Y' didn't, nuther, 

Hosea. I say I did. 

{They are again about to come to blows, but Rev. Mr. F. 
steps between them, just as Ida etiters from store. She 
hurries down steps to r., and at the same time Gra. 
enters, R., andldiCK appears in door of store.) 

Rev. Mr. F. Brethren, I command you 

Ida. Oh ! Oh ! what does it mean ? Pa in a fight. Such 
a calamitous occurrence. Oh, oh, I shall faint ! 

(She appears not to have seen Gra., but pretends to faint, 
iji such a matmer that he is compelled to catch her and 
support her in his arms. Sam atid Hosea separate, 
mumbling to themselves, and mildly threatening each 
other.) 

Dick. Why, what's this — a dispute? 

Rev. Mr. F. Nearly a conflict, I fear, Mr. Elliot. I am 
shocked at such conduct. 

Hosea. Wal, he said I never was a soldier. 



26 THE VILLAGE SCHOOLMa'aM 

Sam. Y' wa'n't. 

HosEA. I was, too. 

Sam. Y' wa'n't, nuther. 

Dick (cotnifig down). There, there, now; that will do. 
Aren't you ashamed of yourselves ? Sam, you'd better go on 
home and cut some wood for your wife, and you, Hosea — 
well, if you stay around here much longer I'll set you to work, 
so take your choice. 

Rev. Mr. F. I think you had better shake hands first, and 
beg each other's pardon, like true brothers in the Lord. 

Ida {recovering, but still leanitig against Gra., who looks 
on with an air of atnused interest^. Oh, pa ! 

Hosea. Not 'nless he takes back that I never fit for the 
Union 

Sam (snappishly). Wal, mebbe y' did, then ! 

Hosea. VVillin' t' own up to it, be y' ? 

Sam. Might's well, t' keep peace. 

Rev. Mr..F. That's right. 

{He gets them together ; they shake hands sheepishly, after 
some hesitatiofi, and go off together, r. i e.) 

Gra. Well, well, I didn't know you ever had anything so 
exciting around here. 

Dick. Oh, they're always spatting. It doesn't amount to 
anything. 

Rev. Mr. F. I consider it quite a serious matter. 

Ida (wJio stands near Gra., though she has recovered and 
no longer leans on him). Oh, indeed ! An occurrence of ex- 
ceeding annoyance. 1 am extensively perturbed. 

Gra. {looking at her with exaggerated alartn). Perhaps I'd 
better run for the doctor. 

Ida. Oh, no, thank you. I am quite recovered now. 

Gra. Glad to hear it. 

Rev. Mr. F. I am thankful I chanced along in time to 
prevent a more serious difficulty. {Up steps.) I came over 
after my mail, Mr. Elliot, and to procure some postage stamps. 

Dick. Very well, Mr. Flick, I'll be right in. {Exit Rev. 
Mr. F. to store.) Coming in, Mr. Graham? 

Gra. Yes, directly. 

Dick. All right. I'll look over those samples again. 

{^Exit. 

Gra. {to Ida, with a -show of tetiderness, which she coquet- 



THE VILLAGE SCHOOLMA AM 27 

tishly returns). Are you sure you feel all right now, Miss 
Alcott ? 

Ida. Oh, yes, Mr. Graham, thanks to your sympathetic 
ministrations. Just think, I was reclining in your embrace. 

Gra. Well, I didn't object. Hope you didn't, either. 

Ida. Oh, I — really, you see, it was all so sudden, and I 
was so overcome, that I did not fully appreciate — I mean 
realize — it. Dear me, I am so ashamed. I hope you do not 
consider me immodest, Mr. Graham ? 

Gra, Oh, no, not at all. As you say, you were not aware 
of what was taking place. What I want to know is, would you 
object if you did know? 

{Getting close to her, with some show of affection.) 

Ida (with a slight movement away from him). Oh, Mr. 
Graham, I — I don't know. It was such a novel experience 
that I— really I 

Gra. {putting his arm about her). Don't you know you 
are too nice a girl to waste your time in this little one-horse 
town? You ought to be out in the world, among people, 
where you could shine, and be appreciated. 

Ida. Oh, Mr. Graham, do you think so ? 

Gra. I know it. You are above all this. I knew that the 
minute I saw you. I'd like to be your friend. 

Ida. But, Mr. Graham, we never met until to-day. 

Gra. What of that ? A day is an eternity when two souls 
that have been made for each other finally meet. One minute 
is enough to show two souls that they are sympathetic — that 
they were destined for each other 

Ida. Oh, Mr. Graham ! 

{He smiles triumphantly, unseen by her, as he draws her to 
him. He is about to kiss her, when Syl. enters, r.) 

Syl. Ida May ! 

(Gra. and Ida separate, he turning to Syl., at first ^cith an 
expression of surprise and chagrin, but instantly recover- 
ing his accustomed cool manner. Ida starts back, alarmed, 
but soon assumes an air of defiance. ) 

Gra. Oh, — it's the school-teacher. (7b Ida.) 

Ida. This is not school. I am my own mistress. 

Syl. Nevertheless, I think it a time to assert my authority 



28 THE VILLAGE SCHOOLMA'aM 

— no, to request you, Ida May, to go home at once and have 
no more to say to this man. 

Ida. I fail to comprehend by what right you assume to as- 
sert such authority over me, or even to request me to do any 
such thing. I have no expectations of obeying. 

SvL. You don't know this man — you never saw him before 
to-day 

Ida. But you have, I suppose? You seem to know all 
about him. I perceive that you and he are not strangers. I 
guess it's time the trustees began to inquire into things 

Syl. {going to her). Ida May, you do not understand. 
You may thank me some day. 

Ida {as they go r.). I consider it extremely mysterious, 
and 

(Ida goes off to 'R..,gla?icing back at Gra., who sjfiiles at her. 
He is c. ; Syl. cojfies to r. c.) 

Gra. I hope you're satisfied. You haven't hurt me a bit, 
but you've aroused plenty of suspicion against yourself. So 
the trustees are going to take it up ? Well, what are you going 
to tell them ? 

Syl. I shall tell them the truth, if it is necessary, and when 
I do, I imagine it would be better for you not to be in the 
vicinity. 

Gra. Oh, I don't know; sometimes people don't believe 
things, even when they are the truth. Particularly, as you 
ought to know, when there is a woman in the case. And when 
the woman is pretty and young, and one who has been passing 
under an assumed name and concealing something — why, the 
truth is just what they wouldn't believe. Better think it over, 
my dear. 

Syl. I have thought it over. Do you think I'm going to 
sacrifice that poor little simpleton of a girl, even if I have to 
sacrifice myself to save her? No. There is no shame in my 
life — nothing that need make me blush — and the misery and 
sorrow I have borne I can bear again, if necessary. But I 
shall not stand by and let you lead another unsuspecting soul 
to its destruction. Remember that. 

{At this point, Mrs. A. and'Ei.. enter r., where they pause, 
jmnoticed, and listen. They express great surprise, min- 
gled u'ith ill-concealed satisfaction, whispering to each 
other, etc. Mrs. A. points to store, and El. steals across 



THE VILLAGE SCHOOLMA AM 29 

to steps. Up to door, looks hack, with exultation, and then 
goes into store. Syl. and Gra. are doiufi c, in such ani- 
mated conversation that they are oblivious to the others. 
Mrs. a. stands up r., somewhat back, eagerly listening.') 

Gra. Oh, come on, now, don't get excited ; you can't 
frighten me. I guess you have quite as much at stake as I 
have, so you'd better keep those pretty lips of yours closed 
good and tight. 

(El. appears on porch, leading out Dick, who stands for a 
moment listeni?ig, as if not comprehending what it all 
means. Is about to start down steps, but pauses as Syl. 
speaks. ) 

Syl. I am not trying to frighten you, Jim ; I only want you 
to try and act as if there is a spark of manhood left in you. 
Oh, why did you come here, just when I was about to find 
something like content and happiness ? I was trying so hard 
to forget the past — to leave it all behind and begin all over 
again, and now — now you have come, to plunge me back into 
all the old misery and despair, 

{She turns, catches sight of Dick a?id El., gives ati excla- 
mation of dismay, and goes R., as if to go off.) 

Dick (coming doivn). Miss Lennox 

[Goes to her ; she draws aivay from him.) 

Gra. So — listening, were you ? All you gossips together. 

(^Glances derisively at Mrs. A. and El.) 

Dick (Syl. is about to exit ; he detains her). Wait, Miss 
Lennox. I wish this man to apologize for annoying you. 

Syl, No, no, Mr. Elliot ; it is not necessary. Please let 
it go. 

El. Let it go, eh? I guess you'll find there's some that 
won't let it go. I guess there's them that will demand an ex- 
planation. Don't you say so. Mis' Alcott ? 

Mrs. a. I should think as much. Such actions ! 

Dick. No doubt it will be given, but for the present you 
will please bear in mind that this is not your affair. 

El. It isn't? Well, of all things! I told you you'd find 
out your wonderful school-teacher wa'n't so perfect. 'Ask her 
to explain a few things — ask 'n' see what she'll say. 



30 THE VILLAGE SCHOOLMA AM 

Mrs. a. That's what I say — ask her. After the way I've 
treated her, 'n' all I've done for her, too. 'N' let Idy May 
'sociate with her, all this time. I declare, you don't know 
who t' trust, nowadays. 

Dick. How dare you accuse her, you, who do nothing but 
gossip and seek flaws in others without seeing your own ? You 
ought to be ashamed of yourselves 

El. Ashamed, eh? Then what about her? 

Enter Rev. Mr. F., to porch. 

Syl. {who has been somewhat crushed, now looking up and 
facing the two wof?ien bravely, though not with too much defi- 
ance). How dare you accuse me — you, who do nothing but 
gossip and seek to tear other people's characters into shreds? 
What right have you to criticise me, just because I do not tell 
you everything you wish to know? Haven't I conducted my- 
self with propriety since I came among you ? Haven't I taught 
your children well, and earned the pittance I have been paid ? 

Mrs. a. a pretty one to teach our children — a woman 
who's ashamed to tell about herself. 

El. And who knows a drummer, without bein' interduced 
to him. Huh ! 

Dick. And what of it, I say? Does that prove anything 
against her ? You don't even give her a chance to offer an 
explanation, before you condemn her. You are heartless — 
cruel — and I am ashamed of you. 

El. Ashamed ? Indeed ! I guess she's the one t' be 
ashamed. 

{She looks significantly at Mrs. A., who ?iods approval. 
They are close together, r. ; Dick, r. c. ; Svl., l. c. ; 
Gra., l.) 

Rev. Mr. F. {coining down to c). Who accuses her — and 
of what ? 

Mrs. a. Mr. Flick ! 
El. The minister ! 

{They speak these sentences together, so?ne7vhat taken aback.') 

Dick. They, Mr. Flick — those women. They have stirred 
up some unjust suspicion against Miss Lennox, with their vin- 
dictive minds and miserable, gossiping tongues. I despise 
them ! 



THE VILLAGE SCHOOLMA AM 3 1 

Rev. Mr, F. Mr. Elliot, be careful ; you don't know what 
you are saying. 

El. He's jealous, that's what's the matter with him. He 
loves her himself. 

Rev. Mr. F. Be kind enough to say no more. Miss Pratt. 
{To Syl.) I am sorry you have been subjected to this annoy- 
ance, Miss Lennox. I have no doubt you can explain every- 
thing and put an end to these unfounded rumors. 

Syl. I have no explanation to make, Mr. Flick. 

Mrs. a. She don't dast tell the truth. {Indicating Gka.) 
Ask him. 

Rev. Mr. F. (71? Gra.). Have you anything to say, sir, as 
to your acquaintance with Miss Lennox ? 

Gra. N-no, 1 guess not. There's nothing very mysterious 
about it. I never saw Miss Lennox until this morning. We 
were simply having an innocent little flirtation. 

El. Oh ! 'N' after what we heard. 

Mrs. a. Yes, indeed ! 

Syl. {to Gra.). How can you say such a thing? How 
dare you try to make them think I am that kind of woman ? 
{To the others.') It is not true. I do know him, I have 

known him, for years — years — and 

{She pauses, turning up stage.) 

El. {to Dick). There ! Now what do you say? She ac- 
knowledges it. 

Dick. That it proves nothing — that I still have confidence 
in her and that it is her own affair — not yours, or mine. 

Mrs. a. Charitable, I must say. 

Rev. Mr. F. Charitable — yes ; which you are not. Be- 
cause she has known this man does not prove that there has 
been anything wrong in her life. 

Syl. {turning). Know him ? Yes, I know him, for what 
he is. {To Mrs. A.) It was to save your daughter that I 
spoke to him — to save her, perhaps, from a fate worse than 
death. And this is how you pay me. 

Mrs. a. My daughter — Ida May ? I don't believe it. It 
is no such thing. You are lying about her t' save yourself. 
Ida May don't know him. She never spoke to him. 

Syl. Ask him — ask her ! Ask her if she was in his arms. 

Mrs. a. How dast you say such things about my daugh- 
ter, you 

{Goes at Syl., about to strike her.) 



32 THE VILLAGE SCHOOLMA'aM 

Rev. Mr. F. Mrs. Alcott ! 

(Dick, seizes her ; she struggles to get away.') 

Mrs. a. Let me go, I say ! It ain't true — it's a lie, I say. 
(T^Gra.) Is it true — is it? 

Gra. Certainly not. I don't even know the girl. I never 
spoke to her. 

Mrs. a. There — there — I told you. 

Syl. {looking at Gra. with withering scorji). I might have 
known. 

Mrs. a. {as she goes R., urged by Dick). I guess this ain't 
the last of this. I'll have her up for slander. I'll have her 
drove out of town. I'll have her tarred and feathered 

{She goes off ^., in great excitement, attended by El. Tad 
and Pos. come frotn store, pause on porch, surprised, atid 
look on.'') 

Rev. Mr. F. {going to Syl., who is c). I am sorry. I 
hope it will come out all right. If you wish to see me, and 
have a talk 

Syl. Thank you, but I have nothing to say. 

Rev. Mr. F. Not at present, perhaps; but if you do have, 
remember, I am ready to listen to you, to do all 1 can in your 
behalf. \_He bows and exits, R. 

Gra. I think I will go, too. {Goes R.) 

Dick. Wait. I have something to say to you, 

Gra. Some other time, perhaps. I think we have had 
quite enough excitement for one session. 

Dick. So, — you are a coward as well as a blackguard ? I 
thought as much. 

Gra. I don't care to have any discussion with you at pres- 
ent. It is rather too warm, and I feel more like a cool drink 
and a nice cigar. Good -afternoon. 

{He bows coolly, with an insolent smile, and saunters off r. 
Dick starts after him, but is intercepted by Syl.) 

Syl. No, no, for my sake — don't. You don't know him. 

He might injure you — kill you — and then I — I 

Dick. And then — would you care? 

Syl. Care? {Passionately.') Would I care ? 

Dick. Sylvia ! (About to take her in his arms.) 



THE VILLAGE SCHOOLMA AM 33 

Syl. (^partly suhnitting, ihe?i drazviiig away from him). 
No, no, you mustn't. It cannot be. 

Dick. Sylvia, I love you. 

Syl. Love me ? No. You trust me — you believe in me — • 
tell me you do. That is all I ask. 

Dick. I trust you — I believe in you — I love you ! 

Syl. Then be kind to me — say no more — I can't bear it. 

Dick {wavering for a vioment). But — that — man? 

Syl. You said you trusted me ? 

Dick. I do. To the end of the world. 

Syl. And I shall not betray that trust. Only wait. 

Dick. I will. 

(Zr<? takes her hand, presses it warmly ; seems about to kiss 
her, but desists and turns from her. Tad and Pos., who 
have been looking on, greatly interested, giggling, etc., 
dodge back into store. Just in time to escape being seen. 
Dick goes slowly up steps to door, where he pauses, look- 
ing back. Syl. stands down c, not looking at him. He 
goes into store ; after a pause, she goes up, looks after 
him tenderly, indicating that she returns his love, then 
sinks down upon steps, burying her face in haiuis, as the 
curtain falls.~) 



CURTAIN 



ACT in 

SCENE. — The sitting-room at the Alcott home, the plainly 
furnished but neat and comfortable living apartment of a 
typical village homestead. There is a door in flat opetiing 
to the yard ; door, L., to kitchen; R., to the parlor or ^^ best 
room.^^ Table, l, c. ; sofa or couch, r., chairs, etc. Dis- 
cover El., seated by table, busily sewirig 07i a fancy dress 
for Ida. Sam enters l., where he pauses, looking back. 
His sleeves are rolled tip, he wears a large gitigham apron, 
which is wet all dozvn the frofit, and is wiping a plate. 

Sam. Say, — Miss Pratt. 

El. (starting, looking around). Oh, that you, Mr. Alcott ? 
How you scart me. Where's Mis' Alcott ? 

Sam. She's gone out t' the barn t' see 'f they's any eggs. 
She made me wash the dinner dishes, 'n' I've got t' git back 
there b'fore she comes in. I want t' ask y' something. 

El. Well, what is it ? 

Sam. I want t' know 'f you've heard any more about the 
schoolma'am ? 

El, I should think we'd heard enough about her. 

Sam. I mean if they turned her out. 

El. Turned her out? No, but they asked her t' resign, 
which was more'n she deserved. If she hadn't, they'd 'a' 
had t' make her go, but she got the start of 'em, the impudent 
thing, 'n' b'fore they could get word to her, she sent in her 
resignation. 

Sam. Glad of it. 

El. Oh, you be ? I guess you hadn't better let y'r wife 
hear y' say that. After the lies she told about your Idy May 
'n' that Mr. Graham. She ought t' be sued f 'r slander. 

Sam. Where's she stayin' now ? 

El. Down t' the hotel, I heard. I call it brazen for her t' 
stay here the way she does. You'd naturally think she'd want 
t' leave town by the first train. 

Sam {seated c). 'N' let everybuddy think it's true? I 
reckon she ain't that kind. 

34 



THE VILLAGE SCHOOLMA AM 



35 



El, I hope you don't mean t' say you're stickin' up for 
her? Of course it's true. She couldn't explain a thing. 

Sam. Y' mean she wouldn't. I say it ain't right t' take 
things f 'r granted without no proof. 

El. Proof? My land, what d' you call proof? She was 
seen talkin' to him, and owned up that she'd known him for 
years. 1 guess that's proof enough. 

Sam. Seems t' me it kind o' 'xcused her for talkin' to him, 
seein' she knew him. 

El, What ! when she'd acted 's if she never had ? Oh, I 
suppose you're like all the men, taken up with what some folks 
call a pretty face. For my part, I don't see where it comes 
in. I call her bold lookin'. (^Glances totvard door in flat.') 
There's Mr. Clegg. 

Sam {rising, in confusion, hiding the plate and cloth behind 
him). Where? Oh, yes, so 'tis. How do, Hosea ? 

HosEA. How are y', colonel ? 

Sam. Needn't call me no military names. I never tried t' 
make out 't I went to the war. 

Hosea. Didn't say y' did. What I meant was " kitchen 
colonel." Got y' regimentals on. 

Sam [glancing at apron). Oh ! {Laughing sheepishly.) 
Wal, — yes, guess I hev. Might's well own up to it. 

El. I guess it ain't no disgrace. Better 'n' bein' idle the 
hull time. 

Hosea. Oh, how d' do. Miss Pratt ? Didn't say 'twas. As 
f'r bein' busy, you're a pretty good example. I never see such 
a busybody. 

Sam. He! he! 

El. What's that? I should think you'd better go on about 
y'r business, 'n' not come around insult'n' y'r betters. As for 
you, Sam Alcott, you'd better finish up them dishes, 'r you'll 
ketch it. 

Sam {going l.). Guess I had. Where you started for, G. 
A. R. ? (r^ Hosea.) 

Hosea. Goin' up t' Simpkinses' t' see 'f Abie's goin' t' 
take a load to the circus. 

El. Huh ! spendin' y'r money on circuses. 

Hosea. Wal, got t' have a treat once in a while. Guess 
ril git along. Mebbe Til stop in on m' way back, 'f y' want 
me to, Elviry. 

El. Land, I don't want y' to. The idee ! B'sides, I'm 
Miss Pratt, if y' please. 



36 THE VILLAGE SCHOOLMa'aM 

HOSEA (in door). Sure; 'n' always will be, I reckon. 
Sam. He! he! 

(El. glares indignantly at him ; he disappears into kitchen.) 

El. (Jo Hosea). Think you're smart, don't y' ? I guess 
it 'd take better 'n you t' make me a " Mrs." 

Hosea. Needn't worry. I ain't asked y' yet. One war 
was enough f r me. \_Exit to L. 

El. (rising). I never heard such impudence. But then, 
he ain't worth noticin'. (JSnter Key. Mr. F., r.) Oh, good- 
afternoon, Mr. Flick. 

Rev. Mr. F. Good-afternoon, Miss Pratt. Whose gay 
costume is that you are making? 

El. Why, that's one of Idy May's new dresses. She's hav- 
ing several — stylish, too, if I do say it. They do take such 
pride in that girl. 

Rev. Mr. F. Yes ; filling her with false pride and worldly 
ideas. It is painful to me to see a young girl encouraged in 
such frivolous and unworthy ways. I am afraid it will lead to 
no good. 

El. My land, Mr. Flick, what d' you mean ? Mis' Alcott 
is real strict with her. I hope you don't put no stock in what 
the school-teacher said about Idy May and that drummer. 
She just said it tryin' t' shield herself. 

Enter Mrs. A., l., where she pauses. 

Rev. Mr. F. I don't think so, Miss Pratt. Miss Lennox 
is not that sort of young woman. I see no reason to doubt the 
truth of anything that she has said. 

El. Of all things ! The minister upholdin' her. What's 
the world comin' to ? 

Rev. Mr. F. The world is coming, let us hope, to a 
broader charity, a truer Christianity, a more tender compassion. 
It is not because I am a minister — it is because I am, I hope, a 
just man, who tries not to condemn without cause, and to pity 
rather than blame. 

El. H'm, — I didn't expect a sermon this time o' the week. 

Mrs. a. (coming do7V7i). I guess you wouldn't be so ready 
t' uphold her if she was old 'n' didn't have a pretty face. Min- 
isters ain't much different from other men, s' fur's I can see. 

Rev. Mr. F. I am not upholding Miss Lennox in any wrong 
that she may have done. Her beauty has nothing to do with 



THE VILLAGE SCHOOLMa'aM 07 

it ; her character and lier conduct during the time she has lived 
among us, do, however, speak in her behalf ""'^ ''^^ ^^^ ^'^^d 

abo it?- ^- '''"' ^'^"^ ^"'- ^''''' ^^^he past she dassn't tell 

he sm, I say, that you have no more charity; you s'the shame 

hat you have no womanly pity, no kincl'es^s of ^^ S 

should prompt you to console and aid, instead of clos^l vonr 

eyes^to the truth and blindly casting the stonelf^cTuKcu- 

El. My land ! 

overtook th.ngs, n make excuses for the wicked, but it ain't 

Mrs f"' f't°"'~r"'^P '='"''"' '° "« ■"""'i'er. 

iviRs. A. 1 know who I'm talkin' tr, u^ > .. , • ,, 

(I^e has gone to door in flat ; vo7v exits to r ) 

K.S-.„'*S:.Sr: l,.r:i!.T£'' ■■ -'- ■•■■■ 

Mrs. a. Le" 



s see 



ain't i, E,vir,7 "l ^^ ^Z^^L^^^^ ^^ f„7of 



38 THE VILLAGE SCHOOLMa'aM 

'em, when she gets that on. I'll have Posie see 'f she can find 
her. {Goes L. ; calls.') Posie! Posie, come here; I want 
y'. Po-sie ! Land, I guess she's turned deef, 'r gone t' sleep, 
more likely. (^Looksoff,\..') Posie! 

Pos. (outside). Yes, ma'am ; Pm comin . 

Mrs. a. She's been 's good 's pie since I give in 'n' told 
her she could go t' the circus. {Enter Pos., L.) What made 
y' s' long? 1 called 'n' called. 

Pos. Didn't hear. Guess I was thinkin' o' the circus. 

Mrs. a. VVal, 'f y' ain't careful I won't let y' go after all. 
You go out 'n' see 'f you can find Idy May, 'n' tell her t' 
come in 'n' try on this dress. 

Pos. {goi7ig). Yes, ma'am. 

Mrs. a. You hurry now, 'n' tell her to. 

\_Exit Pos., D. /;/ F. to L. 

El. Slow, ain't she? 

Mrs. a. Slow? She's 's slow 's molasses in January. 
Wal, I got t*^ go to the store. I f rgot t' git any allspice. 

El. Didy'? 

Mrs. a. Yes. B'sides, I kind o' want t' see how Dick 
Elliot takes it about the teacher. 

El. I should think you'd be afraid he'd say something, 
seein' he's so in love with her. 

Mrs. a. Let him say. I guess he can't say no more *n I 
can, when it comes t' that. He's makin' a fool of himself, ac- 
cord'n' t' my way o' thinkin', stickin' up for her the way he 
does. She refused him, too. 

El. I guess he ain't grand enough, 'r else mebbe — m'm — 
did you ever think, Mis' Alcott, 't mebbe she's married already? 

Mrs. a. Yes, I have. 'R 't she ought t' be. 

El. Oh, Mis' Alcott ! 

Mrs. a. Well, I have. Y' never can tell. {Looks out 
D. F.) Here comes Idy May. {Enter Ida.) Oh, here you 
are? Why didn't you come in 'n' try on y'r new dress? 
Miss Pratt's been wait'n' for y'. 

Ida. I regret exceedingly to have caused you any incon- 
venience, Miss Pratt. {She carries a paper-covered novel.) 

(Pos. enters, d. f. ; exits, L.) 

El. It don't matter. I ain't in no hurry, if you ain't. 
We'll go right in the other room. 

Mrs. a. Yes, in the parlor there; somebuddy might come 
in here. 



THE VILLAGE SCHOOLMa'AM 39 

Ida. Very well. I hope you will facilitate matters as rap- 
idly as convenient, for I am anxious to continue perusing this 
romance. \_Exii, r. 

El. I s'pose she meant she wanted me to hurry ? 

Mrs. a. Yes. Doesn't Idy May use grand language? 

El. (r.). Yes; too grand for me. She might as well talk 
Peruvian, half the time. I don't wonder you're proud of her, 
Mis' Alcott. She certainly is brilliant. 

(El. goes off -&., and at the same time Pos. enters, l.) 

Pos. Mr. Alcott wants t' know 'f he's got t' wash the spider. 

Mrs. a. Why, of course he has. I guess it won't hurt 
him. I've got t' go to the store. {Goesi..') Land, ain't he 
got them dishes done yet ? 

Pos. Nope. He broke a teacup. 

Mrs. a. He did ? 

Pos. M'm-h'm. Dropped it on the stone steps, 'n' it bro'ice. 

Mrs. a. Of course it did, you little ninny. You go back 
'n' help him finish 'em, then you brush up in here. I've got t' 
run down to the store, 'n' I'll be back in a few minutes. 

\_Exit, c. D. R. 

(Pos. is about to go l., hut glances out C. d. l. ; starts hack, 
surprised.^ 

Pos. My goodness, here comes that drummer ! I wonder 
what he wants here. 

(Gra. appears outside of c. D., pauses and knocks. Pos. 
goes to admit him.') 

Gra. Is Miss Alcott at home ? 

Pos. You mean Idy May ? 

Gra. Yes. Is she in ? 

Pos. Sure, she is — in the other room with Miss Pratt, tryin' 
on a new dress. Her ma says she guesses they won't none of 
'em look no stylisher 'n her, not even the school-teacher. 

Gra. Oh, indeed ! That's saying a good deal, isn't it ? 

(//.? has entered and is r. c. ; Pos. c.) 

Pos. Huh ! she couldn't look 's stylish 's Miss Lennox if 
she had forty new dresses. It ain't always the clothes. Miss 
Lennox 'd be a lady in an old caliker, but Idy ]\Iay — huh ! she 



40 THE VILLAGE SCHOOLMA AM 

wouldn't come up to her if she had a silk dress with a trail 
from here t' yunder. 

Gra. So you admire Miss Lennox, do you? 

Pos. Guess 1 do. Don't you? 

Gra. Why, yes — to be sure. She appears to be a very 
attractive young woman. 

Pos. 'Pears t' be? I guess she is. I'd like t' skin them 
that's been sayin' things ag'inst her, 'n' got her turned out o' 
the school, the mean things ! 

Gra. So ! they've done that, have they? 

Pos. I guess you know it. Ain't it about you? 

Gra. Me ? Why,— how ? 

Pos. B'cause she was seen talkin' t' you, 'n' never had no 
interduction. They couldn't make me b'lieve nothin' ag'inst 
her, thougli, 'f they was t' swear to it on a pile o' Bibles 's big 
's this house. I got t' git t' work. (S^ar/s L.) 

Gra. Won't you tell Miss Alcott I wish to see her, please? 

Pos. Idy May? (He nods.) Well, s'pose I will, seein' 
you say so, but you hadn't better let her ma see you talkin' to 
her. 

Gra. No; that's just what I wish to avoid. Can't you 
help me? (Taking a dollar bill from pocket.') It might be 
worth this. 

Pos. What's that — a dollar? My, I never had s' much as 
that t' spend in all my life. 

Gra. Well, it's yours. 

Pos. Gee, but I could spend it at the circus ! What you 
want me t' do? 

Gra. Just tell Ida May that I am here, then watch and see 
that we are not interrupted for a few minutes. 

{Gives her the money.) 

Pos. All right. Her ma's gone to the store, 'n' her pa's in 
the kitchen washin' the dishes, so I guess they won't see you. 
There's Miss Pratt, though. {Looking R.) Here she comes 
now. {Motioning l.) Here, you go in there. Dodge in the 
pantry — there 'tis — 'n' I'll let you know as soon 's it's safe. 

{She shoivs Gra. off, l., theji returns, just as El. enters, K.) 

El. Oh, you here, Posie? I thought you was in the 
kitchen. 

Pos. I was, but I was in hopes I'd get sight of the new 
dress. She got it on ? 



THE VILLAGE SCHOOLMA AM 4I 

El. She did have, but she's takin' it off. It's all done, 'n' 
stylish, too, 'f I do say so. Now, Posie, I'm goin' up to the 
store, too, seein' I've got through for t'-day. I want t' git 
some more thread, 'n' see 'f they's any mail. I'll walk back 
with Mis' Alcott, if I get there 'n time. [Goes to c. D.) 

Pos. Yes, ma'am. All right. 

El. I kind o' want t' see 'f I can hear anything about the 
school-teacher, too. They say she's stayin' at the hotel, right 
where that drummer is. I never heard of sech boldness. I 
think that's proof enough. I always said tliey'd find out she 
wa'n't as perfect 's some folks thought, 'n' I guess I was right. 

Pos. I s'pose if she was as perfect 's you think you be, 
they'd be send'n' for her t' come up t' heaven 

El. What's that ? 

Pos. Nit ! {She laughs and rims off, L.) 

El. Sassy thing ! You wait till Mis' Alcott hears how you 
talked t' me. I guess she'll take some o' that impudence out 
of y'. ^ \_Exit, c. D. R. 

(Pos. looks out L. ; seeing that El. is gone, she motions to 
Gra., who comes out. She then goes to R., looks off.') 

Pos. It's all right now. I'll tell her. {^Exit, R. 

(Gra. goes r., looks off, anxiously. Syl. appears i?i c. d., 
watching him. She dodges back and escapes notice, as 
Pos. returns, followed by Ida. Ida carries on her arm 
the neiv dress which she has just been trying on. She 
shoivs pleasure as she sees Gra. He takes her hand, is 
about to embrace her, but she 7notio7is him to be careful, 
i?idicating that Pos. is ivatching. He looks around at 
Pos., knowingly, and she goes off l., smiling mischiev- 
ously.') 

Gra. Now ! {Attempting to kiss her.) 

Ida. Oh, Mr. Graham (Puts dress on chair.') 

Gra. What ? 

Ida. Jim ! I 

Gra. That's better. {He kisses her, just as Syl. again 
looks in c. D., seeing them.) And that's better still. 

Ida. Oh, Mr. Gra — I mean Jim — I — I am so apprehensive 
of detection 

Gra. There's no danger. Trust me, and everything will 
be all right. I ha\e a man engaged to be waiting for us in the 



42 THE VILLAGE SCHOOLMA AM 

road over beyond the orchard in lialf an hour. He will drive 
us to Mayville and we'll catch the five o'clock train. By the 
time they find it out, we'll be miles away. 

Ida. Oh, I want to go — I want to get away from here — but 
I'm afraid — I am afraid it is wrong, and 

Gra. It is wrong, dear, for you to stay here wheie you are 
not appreciated, and where there is no opportunity for your 
beauty and education to shine. You must see the world — and 
be ha[)py. I will give you everything your heart desires, and 
show you what real happiness is. 

Ida. Yes, yes, I know — and I must go — I will. I stagnate 
here, in this wilderness of benighted unintellectuality. 1 — I 
will go and get ready. 

Gra. Yes ; pack a few clothes — your best — and that money 
you spoke about. You said you had some 

Ida. Yes, nearly a hundred dollars ma has accumulated*for 
my wedding. 1 know where it is — in her bureau — I will get 
it. {Goes R.) Oh, I hope it isn't wrong. 

Gra. No, no, of course it isn't. It is yours. You can use 
it on yourself, after we are married. Hurry, dear. I will 
wait outside, and expect you inside of fifteen minutes. {Sees 
dress on chair. ^ Is that yours ? 

Ida. Oh, yes; one of my new ones. {Goes with him to 
door ; he kisses her and goes off to L, Syl. is not in sight. 
Ida goes, takes up the new dress, is about to go out r., when 
Sam enters l. She sees him.) Why, pa 1 

Sam {he has removed the apron and is noiu dryi/ig his hands 
on a large kitchen towel). Who was that you 's talkin' to? 

Ida. Why, it — it was a friend of mine. 

Sam. It was that drummer, that's who it was. I d' know 
what y'r ma's thinkin' of t' let you run around with him. No- 
buddy knows what he is 'r might 'a' been. 

Ida. Why, pa, Mr. Graham has the instinction of a perfect 
gentleman. 

Sam. He may be a villain, f 'r all we know. Looks like he 
might be, fr'm what the schoolma'am said 

Ida. Yes, what she said, prompted, no doubt, by jealousy 
and inability to elucidate the situation. I consider such a per- 
son as she is 

Sam. Wait till soraethin's proved ag'inst her, b'fore y' call 
her a "person." The worst I've heard about her is, that she 
ain't afraid t' keep her mouth shet 'n' not tell everybuddy her 
business. 'T's so unusual, round here, 't when somebuddy 



THE VILLAGE SCHOOLMa'aM 



43 



does it folks think they must 'a' done somethin'. [In door, l.) 
As for that drummer, you'd better not let him go too fur. 
'Pears t' me like he might be one o' them lady-killin' bugs. 

{He exits L, ; Ida looks after him, makes a gesture of petu- 
lant impatience, grabs up the nezv dress, and 2t<ith a look 
of determination, runs off, r. i e. As slie disappears 
there is a knock outside, D. f., and tJien 1 ad siiozas his 
head. He carries a parcel.) 

Tad {coming in). Hello, ain't nobuddy here? {Goes and 
looks off L.) There she is. Posie— Posie, come here a minute ! 

E?iter Pos., l. 

Pos. Hello, Tad; what you doin' here? 

Tad. Mr. Elliot sent me over with these things Mis' Alcott 
bought. Wonder 'f she f 'rgot anything ? 

Pos. {taking the parcel). Bet she did. I'll put it in the 
kitchen. {In door, l.) Jest think. Tad, t'-morr'w's the circus. 

Tad. Guess I know it. D' know but we might see one 
right t' home. 

Pos. Why, is one comin' here? 

Tad. Might be. Mr. Elliot, he's all riled up over that 
drummer 'n' the way he's treated Miss Lennox, 'n' I wouldn't 
be s'prised 'f he give him a crack the first time they met 
Serve him right, too, the old skunk ! 

Pos. Oh, Tad,_a fight ? 

tt'^'^°', J'^'''''~"^'^-' J^^* ^ thrashin' for that drummer. 
He wouldn t have no chance if Mr. Elliot got at him. 

Pos. Huh, he ain't s' bad. He give me a dollar.' 

Tad. He did,— that drummer? What f 'r? 

Pos. Oh, fixin' it up f'r him 'n' Idy May. They're prettv 
thick. J I } 

Tad. Say, see here—'s he been actin' sweet t' you, too? 

Pos. No, of course not, silly. Wouldn't let him. Ain't I 
your girl now ? 

Tad. Yes, you be, 'n' if he makes up t' you I'll give him a 
lickin b'fore Mr. Elliot gets around to it 

Pos. Oh, Tad,— for me ? 

Tad. Yes— you. Give me a {Jfe approaches her, 

as if to ktss her, but she runs off l., laughing. Be looks after 
her a mometit, sentimentally, then turns and sees Svl., ivho has 
entered and stands up c.) Oh,— Miss Lennox ! 



44 

Syl. Yes, Tad — in ihe enemy's camp. You're my friend, 
aren't you, Tad? 

Tad. You jest bet I be. 

Syl. "Be"? Oh, Tad ! 

Tad. I mean "are," — {she shakes her head^ ^^ zm.'' I'd 
do anything in the world for you. 

Syl. Thank you, Tad, that's friendship indeed. It's not 
much I want you to do, but it may count for a lot. Go over 
there — see — {she points off to l.) in the road behind those trees, 
and you will find Mr. Graham. 

Tad. The drummer? 

Syl. Yes. He is waiting for some one. Well, you tell 
him to come here in ten minutes — that Miss Alcott sent you to 
tell him. 

Tad. Mis' Alcott? 

Syl. Ida May. 

Tad. Oh ! 

Syl. In'ten minutes, — remember. 

Tad. All right. I'll tell him. {He runs off c. -d. l.) 

(Syl. stanch c. Ida enters R. She wears the same dress 
as before, carries a dress-suit case, and has a coat over 
her ar?n. She pauses in surprise and consternation as 
she sees Syl.) 

Ida. Miss Lennox ! 

Syl. Yes. I suppose you wonder what I am doing here? 

Ida. Most assuredly I do. I have no conception of your 
motive. 

Syl. My motive is to save you. No doubt you think I am 
meddling in what does not concern me. Nevertheless, I am 
here to prevent your elopement with that man. 

Ida {she has set doian the dress-suit case and hung the 
coat over a chair. She is R. c. ; Syl., c). How dare you 
come here and say such a thing to me ? I consider you ex- 
tremely impertinent, and I wish you to understand that you 
have nothing whatever to do with my affairs. 

Syl. I have something to do with this affair, and I beg of 
you to listen to me. 

Ida {taking up her things). I shall do nothing of the sort. 
Let me pass. 

Syl. No. You shall not go to that man. 

Ida. How dare you ? 



THE VILLAGE SCHOOLMA AM 45 

Syl. For your sake, I dare. {Looking R.) Hush, some 
one is coming. {Urging her toivard R. i e.) Come — in 
here. 

Ida. Indeed, I shall not. I fail to comprehend 

Syl. You must. Come. 

{In spite of herself , Ink permits Syl. to push her off, u. i e., 
protesting, but finally submitting, and they disappear just 
as Mrs. A. hurries in, c. d. is.., follo7ved by YjL. The 
latter carries a small parcel. ) 

Mrs. a. Dear me, I'm jest about tuckered out. I was in 
sech a hurry, I f rgot t' git that paper o' t'bacco Sam wanted. 
But I guess he'll live without it. I declare, I'm all upset, the 
way Dick Elliot talked. 

El. Yes ; I never knew him t' git so excited. I should 
think he'd be ashamed t' stand up for the schoolma'am the way 
he does. He might's well come right out 'n' say he's in love 
with her. 

Mrs. a. Land, everybuddy knows it. She's in love with 
him, too, 'f she only dast own up to it. They's some reason. 

El. Yes, 'n' that Mr. Graham's mixed up in it. Ain't you 
thought, Mis' Alcott, that he's kind o' tryin' t' turn your Idy 
May's head ? 

Mrs. a. What, Idy May? I guess not. He admires her, 
of course, but she wouldn't encourage him on such short ac- 
quaintance. I can trust Idy May, 'n' anybuddy 't flings out 
about her 

El. Oh, Mis' Alcott, I never thought of such a thing. 

Mrs. a. I ain't sayin' you did, but the school-teacher did. 
Huh, such as she is ! Come on out in the kitchen, Elvira. 
We can set there'n talk while I look over them berries. 

\^Exit, L. 

El. All right, 'n' I'll help, seein' I've got that dress done, 

{She is about to folloin) Mrs. A., when Hosea appears D. f.) 

HosEA. Hello, Elviry ; you here still ? 

El. Of course I'm here. Don't y' see me? 

Hosea, Yep, I see you're here, but not still. Y' never be. 

El. What's that? {Siie is L. c. ; he comes down Q.') I 
guess you needn't talk. 

Hosea. Needn't? Guess I won't git no chance. 'F I 
should, I'd ask you 'f you don't want t' go to the circus t'-mor- 



46 THE VILLAGE SCHOOLMa'aM 

rer. Able Simpkins 's go'n' t' take a load, 'n' I've 'ngaged 
two seats. Thought niebbe you'd like t' go? 

El. Me ? Why, Mr. Clegg, you ought t' know better. I 
don't b'lieve in circuses. They're low. 

HosEA. Huh, that's all you know about it. Circuses is 
elevatin', 'specially on the top seats. Better think it over. 

El. What d' you s'pose folks 'd say, 'f I was t' go to the 
circus with you? They'd say I was 'ncouragin' y'. 

HosEA. Wal, why don't y' ? 

El. Why, Mr. Clegg, y' know we never got along very 
well t'gether. 

HosEA. Wal, we might 's well fight married as single. 
Better say you'll go, hadn't y' ? 

El. {coquettishlf). M'm — wal, I'll — er — think it over. 

HosEA. Say we take a little walk while y'r doin' it? 

El. Oh, Mr. Clegg, I d' know what's come over you. 
This is so sudd'n. 

HosEA. ^Isit? Wal, 'tain't t' me. Been about six years 
workin' up to it. {Offers her his artn.) Coin' to the 
circus? 

El. {taking his arm, as they go to c. D.). M'm — wal, s'pose 
we take that walk first. 

( They go out c. d. l. Mrs. A. enters l. , /;/ time to see them. 
She goes to c. D., and looks off.) 

Mrs. a. Of all things — Elviry Pratt and Hosea Clegg ! If 
they ain't made it up at last, after all their spattin'. {Turns, 
about to go L. again, but pauses in surprise as she glances off 
to R.) I declare, here comes Dick Elliot. {She goes to door, 
meets Dick.) Why, Mr. Elliot, what you doin' here? It 
wa'n't a half an hour ago I left you at the store. 

Dick. I know it, Mrs. Alcott, but I have found out some- 
thing since then. Tad just came back to the store, and I got 
it out of him. 

Mrs. a. Why, what d' you mean? 

Dick. That villain, Graham, has been here to see your 
daughter, and 

Mrs. a. Here — t' see Idy May ? When ? 

Dick. While you were at the store. Tad was here and 
Posie told him. Mrs. Alcott, I believe they have a plan to 
run away together. 

Mrs. a. What ! Run away— my Idy May, with that man ? 
How dast you say such a thing? It ain't true. I'd like t' 



THE VILLAGE SCHOOLMA AM 



47 



kill anybuddy that says that about my daughter. It was that 
schoolma'am, I know it was. Wait till I see her ! 

Dick. Be calm, Mrs. Alcott, and try to get at the truth. 
Where's Posie ? 

Mrs. a. Out in the kitchen. I'll call her. {Goes to l.) 
Posie ! 

Pos. (off-L.): Yes, ma'am. 

Mrs. a. Come here, quick. I want y'. 

Enter Pos., L. 

Pos. Yes, ma'am. 

Mrs. a. Posie, was that man — that Mr. Graham — here ? 

Pos. Who, ma'am ? 

Mrs. a. "Who, ma'am?" You know who — that drum- 
mer. Was he here? You tell me the truth. 

Dick. Tell her, Posie. He was here, wasn't he, just a 
little while ago ? 

Pos. I — I promised not t' tell 

Mrs. a. Oh, you did ? So he was here, was he ? Now, 
you tell me the hull thing. When was he here, 'n' what did 
he want ? If you lie to me, 'r tlon't tell everything you know, 
I d' know but Pll half kill y'. What did he say ? 

Pes. He— he Oh, Mis' Alcott ! 

{Thoroughly frightened, almost crying.^ 

Mrs. a. He what? Out with it — every bit. 

Pos. I can't, 'cause I promised not t'. He give me a 
dollar t' fix it up 'n' not t' tell. 

Dick. I knew it. That agrees with Tad's story. 

Pos. Oh, did Tad go 'n' tell? 

Dick. Yes, he told me, so you might as well confess. 
Graham was here, and he saw Ida May. They have arranged 
to run away together. Isn't that so ? 

Pos. I — I d' know. He wanted t' see her, 'n' I fixed it, 
'n' they was here t'gether, 'n' that's all I know. 

Mrs. a. I don't believe it. It ain't true. Idy May Alcott 
ain't that kind of girl. She wouldn't do such a thing. But if 

she has, I'll {She has walked up c, glancing off to l. 

Starts back, in consternatioii.') Oh ! there he is now. He's 
coming here. 

Dick. Graham? {Goes up.') 

Mrs. a. Yes, that drummer — here — and 



48 THE VILLAGE SCHOOLMa'aM 

Dick. Come, we will hide and watch, and see what hap- 
pens. 

Mrs. a. You'll see what'U happen when I get my hands 
on him, 

Dick. No. Come — wait. 

(^He finally persuades her to go 7vith him, to l. , where they 
conceal themselves, pushing Pos. off l. in front of them. 
After a slight pause, Gra. appears, CD., looks in, then 
enters, looking cautiously about. Goes to R., looks off. 
Calls in a low voice. /« a momeiit Syl. enters, R. She 
wears the new dress just completed by El. for Ida, also 
Ida's hat, and a veil, concealing her face. She carries a 
bag, and apparetitly is Ida, ready for flight. Gra. goes 
2ip to her.') 

Gra. Come. He is waiting, and we must hurry before 
somebody §ees us. (Syl. hesitates, and he attempts to draw 
her toward c. D.) Come, Ida May. What's the matter? 
We'll miss that train. {She pretends to go with him, but as 
they reach the door suddenly pauses, stafids in front of door, 
barring his way, and throws off her disguise. He starts back 
with an exclamation of surprise and dismay.) You ! 

(Ida appears r., in tears, but showing anger and determi- 
nation. At the same time, Mrs. A. comes in L., followed 
by Dick and Sam. Mrs. A. rushes up and assails Gra.) 

Mrs. a. So, it is true, you miserable, low villain ! You 
were trying t' steal my daughter 'n' take her away unbeknownst 
to us, was y' ? I'd like t' kill y', I'd like t' skin y' alive — 
you ! Oh-h-h ! 

{She seems about to attack him, but is prevented by Dick, 
who steps between them.) 

Dick. No, Mrs. Alcott; leave him to me. I have some- 
thing to say to him. 

Gra. It's a trick, I see. 

Syl. Yes, a trick which you have lost, Jim Graham, cun- 
ning as you are, and practiced in such villainy. 

(Gra is c. ; Dick, c. , just back of him ; Syl. , r. c. ; Ida, 
R., with Mrs. A., zaho has crossed to her ; Sam, l. c.) 



THE VILLAGE SCHOOLMA AM 49 

Gra. I owe it to you, of course. I might have known. I 
hope you're satisfied. 

Syl. No, I'm not satisfied till these peo[)le whom you have 
turned against me know what you are and what I am. 

Gra. I'll leave that to you, as I wish to catch a train. (Z<? 
Ida.) So sorry, my little darling, not to have the pleasure of 
your company. 

Ida. Oh, you unscrupulous monster ! Don't you dare to 
address me. 

Mrs. a. Keep still. I begin t' think you lack sense. 

Ida. Oh, ma ! 

{She weeps ; her mother reknis and takes her in her arms.') 

Enter Rev. Mr. F., c. d. ; stands back, looking on, showifig 
surprise. Hosea and El., arm in arm, arid apparently 
on very good terms, follow him and stand up R. 

Syl. {to Gra.). You may miss your train, but you shall 
not miss what I have to say. (Dick manages to detain Gra., 
who submits, listening with a disdainful smile and air of 
bravado.^ It is time the truth was told, and I shall tell it. 
Oh, it was not fear for myself that caused me to keep silent and 
suffer the suspicions and the sneers of those who were once my 
friends. It was shame — shame for you, and for myself that I 
had ever been in your power and become the blind victim of 
your villainy. Listen — you, and you, and you — all of you who 
have doubted and suspected me — {indicating Mrs. A., Ida and 
El.) and you, who have believed in me and been my friends — 
{to Dick and Rev. Mr. F.) you shall know who this man is, 
who I am, and what he is — or used to be — to me. 

Mrs. a. Who is he — what 

El. Yes— tell us. 

Syl. He is what you see — what you have found him to be 

a man who wears the mask of refinement and respectability, 
but who at heart is black and vile. I know — oh, I know, for 
he was — my — husband ! 

Dick. Your 

J, ■ ■ l Your husband ? 

Syl. Not now, thank heaven, for I am free; but three years 
ago I was his wife, at first trusting him — loving him, I thought, 
till he killed every bit of fondness or respect that I ever had for 
him, I soon found out what he was, for he tired of me, and 



50 THE VILLAGE SCHOOLMA AM 

turned from me and won the confidence of another — a young 
and innocent girl — my sister. 

Rev. Mr, F. Your sister? You mean to say 

SvL. Yes; such was his power over her, weak, fooUsh girl, 
that he persuaded her to go away wiih him — leaving me to suf- 
fer in sorrow and shame. Oh, he soon tired of her too, de- 
serted her, and she came back to me to die in my arms, while 
he was seeking another victim. Do you wonder I tried to hide 
such a past — to shield even him for the sake of that little sister 
whom he ruined and murdered — even to suffer suspicion and 
shame myself, rather than tell the truth ? But it is the truth, 
James Graham, and I have told it. Dispute it if you dare. 

Gra. Oh, well, the cat's out, so what's the use? It's true 
enough, so far as it goes. There may be more, but — we'll let 
it go at that. 

Dick. No, we won't let it go with that. You have to deal 
with me. 

{He is about to attack Gra., but Svl. springs between them.') 

SvL. No, no, for my sake. He isn't worth it. Let him go. 

Gra. {to Dick). Try it, if you wish, but what's the use ? 
She's free to take you, if you want her. Take her — with my 
blessing. 

Dick. I will — if she will take me, 

Gra. Oh, she will, so — well, I'll catch my train. Good- 
bye, everybody. ( Waves his hand and throws a kiss to Ida.) 
Little charmer ! 

{He goes out c, looking back and smiling superciliously. 
Ida exclaims, " Oh /" and turns to Mrs. A., who glares 
at Gra., then turns and leads Ida off v.., followed by El,, 
then by Hosea. Rev. Mr. F. is up c, looks off, after 
Gra., with a sad expression, shaking his head. Sam 
takes Pes. by the shoulders and urges her off L. , she look- 
ing back curiously at Svl. ajid Dick. Svl. is r. c, Dick 
C. Rev. Mr. F. looks at them a moment, then holds up 
his hand, smiling, and exits c. Svl. stands with her 
hands clasped before her, her head drooping. Dick looks 
appealingly at her, hesitates, then gains courage and steps 
toward her. There is a slight pause.) 

Dick. Sylvia ! {She does not look up.) It is not too late 
—I want you 



THE VILLAGE SCHOOLMa'aM ei 

Syl. (//f/i'/ig her head, looking at him). Now— after what 
you have heard ? 

Dick. Yes, now— forever — in spite of all ! 

{He holds Old his hands; she goes to hiin and is clasped in 
his arins.) 



CURTAIN 



New Plays for Female Characters 

THE PURSUIT OF THE PARSON 

A Mock Trial in One Act 

By Helen Lee Brooks 
Thirteen females and jury. Costumes of the future ; scenery unimpor- 
tant. Plays one hour. A clever and amusing picture of the days to come 
when the ladies will run things. Originally presented in Louisville, Ivy. 
Price, 2 J cents 

CHARACTERS 

Hon. Portia Blackstone, Judge. 

Madame Elizabeth Kent-Coke, Prosecuting Attorney. 

Madame Tomasia Erskine, Attorney for Defendant. 

" Dotty " Develin, the Defendant. 

Clerk of the Court. 

Sheriff, 
Witnesses for the Commo?iwealth Witnesses for Defendant 

Miss Mehitable Simpkins, a Dr. Eleanor Ainsworth, eX' 

spinster of uncertain age. pert Oculist and Alienist, 

Miss Nancy Ann Sims, another Mrs. Polly Posy, chum of 

spinster of doubtful age. Dotty. 

Prof. Elvira Jones-Johnson, Prof. Dolly Dimple, Professor 

Instructor of Advanced The- of the Art of Courtship. 

ology. Forewoman of the Jury and 

eleven jurors. 

THE TRUTH ABOUT JANE 

A Comedy in One Act 

By Alice C. Thompson 
Seven females. Costumes modern ; scenery, an easy interior. Plays 
twenty-five minutes. A very easy, bright and up-to-date piece doing 
justice to the virtues of the « athletic " girl. Strongly recommended. 
Price, 15 cents 

OYSTERS 

A Farce in One Act 

By Alice C. Thompson 
Six females. Costumes modern ; scene, an easy interior. Plays 
twenty minutes. An easy and clever little play for younger girls, with 
one old maid character. A novel idea very amusingly treated. Strongly 
recommended. 

Price, 15 cents 



New Plays 



MR. EASYMAN'S NIECE 

A Farcical Comedy in Four Acts 

By Belle Marshall Locke 

Six males, four females. Costumes modern ; scenery, two interiors and 
one easy exterior that may be played indoors if desired. Plays a full even- 
ing. A clever and vivacious play, full of fun and action. Mr. Easyman's 
fad of spiritualism leads liim into a difticulty that is a source of endless 
amusement to the audience. Irish and old maid comedy parts. Can be 
recommended. 

Price, 2^ cents 

CHARACTERS 

Mr. Stephen Easyman, a wealthy Mr. Sharpe, a detective. 

broker. Miss Judith Carroll, a maiden 

Mr. Carew Carlton, ^/i nephew. aunt. 

Mr. Tom Ashleigh. Mrs. Easyman, \ her 

Jackson, a servant. Miss Bessie Carroll, J nieces. 

Michael Flynn. Desdemona, the ghost. 

A PAIR OF BURGLARS 

By Byron P. Glenn 

Two males, two females. One act. Costumes modern ; scenery, an 
easy interior. Plays half an hour. A brisk little curtain raiser of the 
" vaudeville " type, moving all the time. Easy and effective ; all the parts 
young people and well-dressed. Strongly recommended. 

Price, IS cents 

DANE'S DRESS-SUIT CASE 

By Robert C. K Meyers 

Two males, one female. One act. Costumes modern ; scene, an easy 
interior. Plays fifteen minutes. An excellent short play to fill out a bill 
or to fill in an intermission. All action and lots of fun. All parts young 
and well-dressed. 

Price, IS cents 



New Entertainments 



ALL THE YEAR ROUND 

A Series of Entertainments for Every 
Month in the Year 

By Harriette Wilbur 
A collection of sixteen pretty and graceful entertainments for children 
of various ages and both sexes in a variety of combinations, written by an 
experienced teacher of the young, and intended to meet the wants of oilier 
teachers in quest of material suited to their needs. Some attention is 
given to all the generally observed holidays and anniversaries, and for 
the more popular of these more than one entertainment is provided. The 
ideas are pretty and, it is believed, their working out entirely practicable. 
Costumes called for are easily arranged, and full descriptions are given 
when necessary, as well as music and illustrative diagrams to aid in work- 
ing out the drills and marches. 

Price, 25 cents 

CONTENTS 
** Happy New Year " (.f/> boys, six girls and a little child ). 
The Rail Splitters {twelve small boys). 
Valentines {six girls and six boys, or twelve girls). 
George and Martha Washington {six boys and six girls). 
The March Hare {eight boys). 
April Weather {four boys and four girls). 
May Flowers {fourteen little girls). 
"June Time" {fourteen girls). 
A Firecracker Drill ( ten small boys). 
The Stars and Stripes {sixteen girls). 
Labor Day {six boys and chorus). 
" Berries Red " {ten little girls). 
Autumn Leaves {eight little girls). 
The First Thanksgiving {twelve small boys). 
Christmas Bells {nine small boys). 
A Winter Night's Frolic {twelve small boys). 

BROTHER DAVE 
A Play in One Act 

By Willis Steell 
One male, two females. Costumes modern ; scene, an interior. Plays 
twenty minutes. A piece of very strong dramatic interest for a leading 
low comedian, originally produced in vaudeville by Sam Edwards. Free 
to amateurs; royalty required for professional performance. 

Price, I J cents 



New Plays 



ONE OF THE EIGHT 

A College Comedy in Four Acts 

By Norma?! Lee Swartout 

Ten males, four females. Costumes modern ; scenery, two easy in- 
teriors. Plays a full evening. A first-class piece for college production by 
the author of " Half-Back Sandy," the story turning upon the event of the 
annual boat-race. All parts good ; strongly recommended. Can be 
played only by payment of a royalty of ^lo.oo to the author. 
Price, 2^ cents 

CHARACTERS 

Henry Brooks. " Mollie " Runskool, a freshman. 

Mr. Brooks, his father. Bill Carter. 

Lord Chillingworth. Professor Dixon. 

Peter, his valet. Mrs. Brooks, Henrfs mother. 

Guy Marks, I. D. Helen Baldwin. 

Caleb Weston. Bab. 

Ned Andrews. Amy, the Professor's daughter. 

SYNOPSIS OF SCENES 

Act I. — Parlor in Henry's home at Redville, on New Year's 
night. 

Act II. — Curiosity room in Delta Sigma Fraternity House. A 
morning in June. 

Act III. — Same as Act II. Afternoon. 

Act IV. — Same as Act II. Evening. 



THE POETS* CLUB 

By M. N. Beebe 

Eleven male characters. One act. Scenery unimportant ; costumes 
modern. Plays thirty-five minutes. A capital farce for boys, easy and 
effective. Characters include an Irishman, a Swede, a pugilist, a tramp, 
a negro, a farmer and a " willy-boy." Strongly recommended. 
Price, /J cents 



New Plays 



A MAN'S VOICE 

By Helen Sherma/i Griffith 

Six females. Two acts. Costumes modern ; scenery, two interiors. 
Plays about an hour. An admirable comedy in two acts for ladies only, 
suited for schools or for amateur theatricals. Appeals to the best taste and 
is at once easy and effective. Very strongly recommended. 
Price, 25 cents 



SYLVIA'S AUNTS 

By Dorothy Waldo 

Eight females. Two scenes. Costumes modern ; scenery, an easy in- 
terior. Plays twenty minutes. A clever little college play for girls, full 
of humor and life, and sure to please. Two old maid parts, the rest 
all young ; all the parts good. Ideally suited for school performance. 
Price, i^ cents 



MISS OLIVER'S DOLLARS 

By Emilie H. Callaway 

Eight females. One act. Costumes modern ; scene, an easy interior. 
Plays half an hour. A bright and animated piece, very easy and effective. 
Three eccentric old women, the rest society people, middle-aged and 
young. Suited for schools or amateur theatricals. Tone high. 
Price, i^ cents 



THE WOOING OF WILHELMINA 

By Thomas Little field Marble 

Four males, three females. Three acts. Costumes military and mod- 
ern ; scenery varied but easily arranged. Plays about an hour only. An 
extremely pretty little comedy in three acts of a romantic type ; very up 
to date and picturesque, and very dramatic. Strongly recommended to 
the lovers of old-fashioned romance. Clean, wholesome and vivacious. 
Price, i^ cents 



New Play: 



THE TIME OF HIS LIFE 
A Comedy in Three Acts 

By C. Leona Dalrymple 
Six males, three females. Costumes modern ; scenery, two interiors, 
or can be played in one. Plays two hours and a half. A side-splitting 
piece, full of action and a sure success if competently acted. Tom Car- 
ter's little joke of impersonating the colored butler has unexpected con- 
sequences that give him "the time of his life." Very highly recom- 
mended for High School performance. 

Price, 2J cents 

CHARACTERS 
Mr. Bob Grey. 
Mrs. Bob Grey. 

Tom Carter, Mrs. Grefs brother. 
Mrs. Peter Wycombe, a "personage.^'* 
Mr. Peter Wycombe, a " pessimist " with a digestion. 
Dorothy Landon, secretly engaged to Tom Carter. 
Mr. James Landon, Sr., Dorothy' s father ; of a peppery disposition. 
Uncle Tom, an old colored butler from the South. 
Officer Hog an, of the Twenty- Second Street Police Station. 

EETHER OR EYTHER 

A Farce in One Act 

By Robert C. V. Meyers 
Four males, four females. Costumes modern ; scene, an interior. Tlays 
thirty minutes. A clever parlor play, similar in idea to the popular " Ob- 
stinate Family." Sure to please. 

Price, IS cents 

THE MORNING AFTER THE PLAY 

A Comedy in One Act 

By Willis Steell 
Two males, three females. Costumes modern; scene, an interior. 
Plays twenty minutes. An easy piece of strong dramatic interest, orig- 
inally produced in Vaudeville by Christy Clifford. Free to amateurs; 
royalty required for professional performance. 
Price, /f cents 



New Farces and Comedies 

GADSBY'S GIRLS 
A Farce in Three Acts 

By Bertha Currier Porter 
Five males, four females. Costumes modern ; scenery, an exterior and 
an interior. Plays an hour and a half. An exceptionally bright and 
vivacious little piece, full of action. The irrepressible Gaclsby's adven- 
tures with the fiancees of three of his friends are full of interest and fun. 
All the parts good. Well suited for High School performance. 
Price, 25 cents 

CHARACTERS 

Richard Stanley, a lawyer. 

Joseph Parker, a clerk. 

Morris Young, a medical student. 

Steve, the farm boy. Friendly, but not loquacious. 

Mabel Farkins, /riz'olous and dressy ,- engaged to Richard. 

Esther Carroll, botanical and birdy ,• engaged to Joseph. 

Grace Chester, Just girl; engaged to Morris. 

Mrs. Dodge, zvho takes boarders. 

Maximilian Hunnewell Gadsby, a butterfly. 

THE GIRL WHO PAID THE BILLS 
A Comedy in One Act 

By Nina Rhoades 
Two males, four females. Costumes modern ; scene, an easy interior. 
Plays thirty-five minutes. A clever piece of high class, admirably written 
and suited to the best taste. A pretty little love story, wholesome and un- 
sentimental in tone. Well recommended. 

Price, 15 cents 

THE FIFTH COMMANDMENT 
A Play in One Act 

. By Willis Steell 
Three males, one female. Costumes modem; scene, an interior. 
Plays twenty minutes. An easy piece of strong dramatic interest, origi- 
nally produced in Vaudeville by Julius Steger. Free to amateurs; royalty 
required for professional performance. 

Price, 15 cents 



New Plays 



A MASQUE OF CULTURE 

By Annie Eliot Trumbull 
Two male, ten female characters. Costumes, classical ; scenery, un- 
important. Plays about an hour and a half. A reprint of this clever and 
widely known satire. It deals with ladies and gentlemen well known in 
historical society, and discusses them with abundant wit and humor. Con- 
fucius and Socrates are summoned by Minerva to a convention of ladies, 
equally well known to literature, held in Boston. They return to the 
Shades and to Minerva with a depressing account of these ladies and their 
transactions. Ideally suited for the use of schools and ladies' clubs both 
by its subject and its admirable treatment. Can easily be played by 
women only if desired, and can be gotten up with very little trouble or 
expense. 

Price, 2^ cents 

ROMANTIC MARY 

By Alice C, Thompson 

Four males, four females. Three acts ; costumes modern ; scenery two 
easy interiors, or can be played in one. Plays two hours. A very pretty 
and effective piece, high in tone and very amusing. A haunted house 
and a very polite and considerate ghost contribute a pleasing mixture of 
humor and excitement to a very well-balanced cast of characters. All the 
parts good. An easy piece, well recommended. 
Price, IS cents 

A HOLE IN THE FENCE 

By Esther B. Tiffany 

Four males, three females. Two acts ; costumes modern ; scenery, an 
exterior — a garden. Plays an hour. A farcical comedy of high class, 
very amusing and not difficult. Irish, Negro and Swedish comedy char- 
acters ; all the parts effective. Can be strongly recommended to the best 
taste. 

Price, 2^ cents 

THE UNDOING OF JOB 

By John Stone 
Three males, four females. Three acts ; costumes modern ; scenery, 
a single interior. Plays an hour and a quarter. An amusing comedy 
with a small but well-balanced cast, high in tone, and strongly recom- 
mended for drawing-room performance, as it is easy and effective and can 
be produced under the simplest conditions. Professional acting rights 
reserved. Price, 2^ cents 



New Farces 



THE ELOPEMENT OF ELLEN 

A Farce Comedy in Three Acts 

By Marie J. Warren 

Four males, three females. Costumes modern ; scenery, one interior and 

one exterior. Plays an hour and a half. A bright and ingenious little 

play, admirably suited for amateur acting. Written for and originally 

produced by Wellesley College girls. Strongly recommended. 

Price, 25 cents 

TOMMY'S WIFE 
A Farce in Three Acts 

By Marie J. Warren 
Three males, five females. Costumes modern ; scenery, two interiors. 
Plays an hour and a half. Originally produced by students of Wellesley 
College. A very original and entertaining play, distinguished by abun- 
dant humor. An unusually clever piece, strongly recommended. 
Price, 25 cents 

ALL CHARLEY'S FAULT 

An Original Farce in Two Acts 

By Anthony E. Wills 
Six males, three females. Scenery, an easy interior ; costumes modern. 
Plays twro hours. A very lively and laughable piece, full of action and 
admirably adapted for amateur performance. Dutch and Negro comedy 
characters. Plays very rapidly with lots of incident and not a dull mo- 
ment. Free for amateurs, but professional stage rights are reserved by 
the author. Strongly recommended. 

Price, 13 cents 

OUT OF TOWN 
A Comedy in Three Acts 

By Bell Elliot Palmer 
Three males, five females. Scene, an interior, the same for all three 
acts ; costumes modern. Plays an hour and a half. A clever and inter- 
esting comedy, very easy to produce and recommended for amateur per- 
formance. Tone high and atmosphere refined. All the parts good. A 
safe piece for a fastidious audience, as its theme and treatment are alike 
beyond reproach. 

Price, 25 cents 



Novelties 



HOW THE CLUB WAS FORMED 

An Entertainment in Ttiree Scenes 

By Mrs. O. W. Gleason 

Author of "How the Story Grew" "A Modern 
Sewing Society," etc. 

Eighteen females. Costumes modern ; scenery unimportant. Plays 
one and a half hours. A humorous skit on the Woman's Club suited for 
performance by either young or middle-aged women. Full of points and 
chances for local hits and thus a sure laugh-maker. Parts well dis- 
tributed; can be recommended. 

Price, 75 cents 

A MOTHERS' MEETING 

An Entertainment in One Scene 

By Alio Bates 

Author of "A Business Meeting" "A Gentle Jury" "An 

Interrupted Proposal," "Her Deaf Ear," etc. 

Ten females. Costumes modern ; scenery unnecessary. Plays thirty 
minutes. A good-humored and amusing satire of this institution suited 
for performance by middle-aged as well as young ladies. Can be made 
very amusing by the introduction of local points, as in all such entertain- 
ments. All the parts are good and of nearly equal opportunity. Well 
recommended. 

Price, 15 cents 

MAIDS OF ALL NATIONS 

An Entertainment in One Scene 
By Maude Biirbank 

Author of "A Pan of Fudge," etc. 

Fifteen females, one male. Costumes of the nations; scene, the usual 
tableau arrangements. A pleasant variation of the " Bachelor's Reverie " 
introducing fifteen pretty girls in the costumes of as many nations. Plays 
thirty minutes. Recommended for its simplicity and picturesqueness. Its 
one male character may speak or not, as preferred, and may be played by 
a girl if desired. 

Price, i^ cents 



New Plays and Entertainments 
MISS FEARLESS & CO. 

A Comedy in Three Acts 

By Belle Marshall Locke 
Ten females. Scenery, two interiors; costumes modern. Plays a full 
evening. A bright and interesting play full of action and incident. 'Can be 
strongly recommended. All the parts are good. Sarah Jane Lovejoy, Katie 
O'Connor and Euphemia Addison are admirable character parts, and Miss 
Alias and Miss Alibi, the "silent sisters," offer a side-splitting novelty. 
Price, 2^ cents 



MRS. BRIGGS OF THE POULTRY YARD 

A Comedy in Three Acts 

By Evelyn Gray Whiting 
Four males, seven females. Scene, an interior; costumes modern. A 
domestic comedy looking steadfastly at the " bright side " of human 
affairs. Mrs. Briggs is an admirable part, full of original humor and 
quaint sayings, and all the characters are full of opportunity. Simply but 
effectively constructed, and written with great humor. Plays two hours. 
Price, 2j cents 

SCENES IN THE UNION DEPOT 

A Humorous Entertainment in One Scene 

By Laura M. Parsons 

Twenty-four males, eighteen females and eight children, but can be 

played by less if desired. Scenery unimportant ; costumes modern. Full 

of humorous points and chances to introduce local hits. Plays from an 

hour up, according to specialties introduced. 

Price, 25 cents 

A MODERN SEWING SOCIETY 

An Entertainment in One Scene 

By O. W. Gleason 
Fourteen females. Costumes modern ; no scenery required. May be 
easily presented on a bare platform. Plays forty-tive minutes. A hu- 
morous picture of this much-abused institution, briskly and vivaciously 
written and full of "points." Its characters offer a wide variety of op- 
portunity for local hits and satire of local characters and institutions. 
Price, yj cents 



New Plays 



LUCIA'S LOVER 

A FARCE IN THREE ACTS 

By Bertha Currier Porter 

For Female Characters Only 

Eight females. Costumes, modern ; scenery, two interiors. Plays an 
hour and a half. A bright and graceful piece, hght in character, hut sym- 
pathetic and amusing. Six contrasted types of girls at boarding school are 
shown in a novel story. Lots of fun, but very refined. Easy to produce and 
can be strongly recommended. 



Price, 25 cents 



CHARACTERS 

Polly Chandler, who loves cats. LucLi. Lovebing, a love-lorn lass. 

Mildred Chase. Miss McGregor, a teacher. 

Katherine Stanton. Mrs. Goldthwaite, a widow with 
Edith Lee, a Southern girl. an only son. 

Marcia Summers, a little older than Chauncey, an adopted child, 
the others. 

SYNOPSIS 

ACT I.— :^olly's room at boarding school. Dressmaking. Chauncey, the 
cat. Lucia's love-letter. 

ACT II.— The same. The countersign. Welsh Rarebits. A midnight 
feast. Lights out! The secret. Fortune-telling. A confession. 

ACT III.— A reception room in the school. The day of judgment. A 
widow with an only son. Interrupted. A concealed jury. Brought to book. 
True friendship. Lucia's lover. 



THE THREE HATS 

A FARCICAL COMEDY IN THREE ACTS 

From the French, by Arthur Shirley 

Five males, four females. Costumes, modern ; scenery, one interior, 
the same for all three acts. Plays a full evening. A rapid, slap-dash farce, 
full of action and movement. Very laughable and can be recommended as 
a mirth-provoker. 



Price, 15 cents 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



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